


Effortless Riposte

by ninjanna138



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Relationship(s), Romance, Seriously REALLY SLOW BURN, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trevelyan Character Development, explicit sexual content in later chapters, slow development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjanna138/pseuds/ninjanna138
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ailla Trevelyan does not believe in the Maker and somehow finds herself in the position to be known and worshiped as His messenger - the Herald of Andraste.  Despite her values, or lack thereof, she - begrudgingly - agrees to help the Inquisition restore order to Thedas, and for morale's sake, she maintains the facade of being a true believer.  Cullen Rutherford has left the Templar Order to serve as Commander of the Inquisition.  He is unsure of this Herald of Andraste and doubts her willingness to commit to the cause.  </p><p>Through trials and tribulations, the two find out that they are more alike than they could have ever imagined, and in the end, they may create something disastrously beautiful.  </p><p>**Summary has been edited.  The story is turning out differently from how I first envisioned it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the explosion at the conclave, Ailla finds herself being the only hope to closing the Breach that has appeared above the the Frostback Mountains. Being a non-believer, she can't say she's too delighted to be a part of the renewed holy expedition known as the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First, I want to say thanks for reading, or at least considering it! This story will focus on the Inquisitor's character/past as much as it will focus on the growing relationship between her and Cullen. The points of view will switch between Ailla and Cullen to keep things interesting and refreshing. I hope you enjoy it and any feedback would be much appreciated!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

It was nothing more than a coincidence.  Her presence at the conclave, the Mark on her hand, being the sole survivor of the explosion - mere happenstance.  It had to be.  With some grand stroke of luck, Ailla Trevelyan somehow lived through the events at the conclave and would soon after be called the Herald of Andraste by the people of Haven.  It could have happened to anyone there.

That’s what Ailla told herself.  She refused to accept any other explanation, especially one having to do with some invisible, intangible deity who carried the fate of all living beings in the palm of his hand.  Fate had nothing to do with it.  Her being at the conclave had everything to do with her family name, that she was the only daughter of Bann Trevelyan, that her parents, despite her open disbelief of the Maker, did everything in their power as nobles to force her into life at the Chantry.  

Being born into her family wasn’t destiny.  It just _happened_.

However, being at the Chantry in Haven now and _not_ being so open about her heresy was likely the only thing keeping her alive, or at least from being imprisoned.  As much as Seeker Pentaghast wanted to defend Ailla from Chancellor Roderick’s accusations, Ailla couldn’t help but agree with the man - not that she killed the Divine but that she in fact wasn’t some messenger of the Maker.  If the Seeker knew how Ailla truly felt about this entire debacle, she may return to blaming her for the incident.  Only a _true_ heretic could kill the Maker’s most devout servant, after all.

Many times during the conversation, Ailla had fought the urge to flee, to run as fast and as hard as her legs would take her.

Roderick’s voice had risen, disgust dripping from his tongue, “So her survival?  That _thing_ on her hand?  All a coincidence?”

_I didn’t kill the old bag but, Maker’s breath, yes!  It was all a coincidence!_

“Providence,” the Seeker countered.  

A chill prickled up Ailla’s spine.  The woman sounded so convinced, her tone absolute.

The Seeker continued, “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Ailla had felt herself taking a small step back at her words, nearly giving in to her need to get the hell out of there.  She knew where this was going and she was frantically weighing the options in her head - flee now and risk appearing utterly guilty or remain where she was and risk her life being used as a tool for these crazy fanatics.  Sure, this Mark could close the rifts - it had closed a few already - but there had to be another way.  

“The Breach still remains,” Sister Leliana stated.  “And your mark is still the only hope of sealing it.”

_Andraste’s tits, this isn’t happening._

“This is not for you to decide,” the Chancellor spat.

Ailla nearly jumped out of her boots when the Seeker slammed a hefty, leather-bound book onto the table with a loud thud.  She felt her mouth become dry at the sight of the ornate eye that decorated the cover.

_Shit._

Trevelyans were raised and groomed for one of two things - the Chantry or the Templar Order, which to Ailla were one in the same anyway.  Both required rigorous studies and the first Inquisition was no small chapter in the curriculum.  Something about using the power-hungry magisters of the Tevinter Imperium as an excuse to subjugate the entirety of mage existence.  That was around the time Ailla stopped caring about her schooling.  

She swallowed hard as she stared at the book, consciously attempting not to appear too wide-eyed.  “A writ from the Divine,” the Seeker called it, and it gave them the authority to act.  She declared the Inquisition anew and Ailla felt the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stand.  What had she gotten herself into?  No, it wasn’t her.  It was her father, damn him.  If he had just left her out of these bloody family matters, none of this would have happened.  

The Seeker stepped aggressively toward Roderick, and with each step, her voice became more and more resolved, “We will close the breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order.  With or without your approval.”

At this point in time, the Chancellor had stormed out of the room.  Ailla’s eyes shifted from the Seeker, to Sister Leliana, then back.  

“We must act now,” Seeker Pentaghast declared, turning to face Ailla. “With you at our side.  Will you help us before it is too late?”  She offered her hand, an agreement, a truce - a contract.

Ailla felt her heart beat quicken as she glanced down at the Seeker’s gloved hand.  She felt trapped, not just by the room, or the heavy gazes of the two other women before her, or even the entirety of the situation itself.  According to them, they wanted to renew the Inquisition to end a meaningless war, to stop the chaos that had suddenly arisen in their wake, to find justice for the death of the innocent and undeserving, to preserve Thedas against an unknown evil.  Who in good conscious could refuse to give themselves to a cause such as this?

_Me._

Even if these rifts were to sprout up all over Thedas, there was no place important enough to Ailla for her to worry herself with it.  She didn’t have a home, not truly, and certainly not in Ostwick.  And what did she owe these people?  What did she owe anyone?  She couldn’t think of a good enough reason to agree to any of this.

_Because it’s the right thing to do._

Ailla fought the scowl that threatened to twist her features.  Her eyes traveled from the Seeker’s hand to her eyes, both of their gazes hard.  “Is this Mark truly the only way to.. to close these rifts?” she asked, nearly unable to believe the words that were spilling from her lips.   Her chest and throat tightened with each one spoken.  Even as she asked, she already knew the answer and suddenly her shoulders felt very heavy.

From her peripherals, she saw Leliana nod. “I’m afraid so, Herald.  If there was another way that didn’t require a living soul to put his or her life on the line, then rest assured, that would be the path we would choose.”

_Ah, perfect.  I feel loads better._

Ailla breathed deep through her nose, then exhaled slowly. “We’ll see how this goes,” she muttered, grasping the Seeker’s hand and giving it one good shake.  Even then, every nerve in her body was screaming at her to run but she - with much effort - ignored the feeling.  Although the Seeker didn’t appear too happy about Ailla’s hesitance, she gave a small smile despite herself after they’d relinquished their grasps.  There was hope in Seeker Pentaghast’s eyes.

 

* * *

The Seeker led Ailla back to the war room after spreading the word of the reborn Inquisition throughout the village and farther regions.  

Three other people awaited their arrival.

“Herald, may I present Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisition forces,” the Seeker introduced, gesturing toward the heavily-armored blonde man with the furry mantle across the table from them.

His title stealing her attention, Ailla’s eyes flickered cautiously to the man’s face, noting the scar that cut into the side of his upper lip.  She then glanced briefly to his hands that rested casually on the hilt of his blade. _Templar_ , she warned herself.  Their eyes met, and the Knight-Commander must have seen the distrust in her gaze because he then turned to the Seeker and cleared his throat.

“Cassandra, please, I no longer answer to that title.”  His tone was firm and, though it wasn’t imposing, had a slight edge to it.  He seemed to have some distaste for title as well, which made one of Ailla’s eyebrows rise.

The Seeker nodded, “Of course, Commander.”  She turned to Ailla, glancing at her reassuringly, “Cullen left the Templar Order to join our cause.  There was no one else who could fill this position and, quite frankly, I would not prefer any other.”

“You’re being kind,” Cullen offered before turning his attention back to Ailla.  “I was simply called to a higher purpose.”

 _And if you hadn’t, you’d still be a Templar_.  Ailla pursed her lips, fighting back the words.  In this room and around these people, she was a devout believer of the Maker, and those who believed in the Maker followed the Chantry, and thus supported the Templar order.  Admittedly, honesty wasn’t Ailla’s strong suit but this routine was going to get old very fast.  She simply nodded.

The Seeker further introduced Josephine Montilyet, their Ambassador, and reintroduced Sister Leliana as their Spymaster.  

“Well,” Ailla glanced around the room.  “That’s.. an impressive bunch of titles.”  She kicked herself instantly, hearing the hint of sarcasm in her voice.  Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice.  “Anyway… Please tell me you all have a plan for this because as far as I can tell, the mark didn’t work on the Breach itself.”

_Right, Ailla, because snarky impatience is much better than subtle sarcasm._

“If we can give your Mark more power, we may be able to seal the Breach with a second attempt,” Leliana began.  “Which is why we need to approach the rebel mages for help.”

Ailla felt genuinely surprised.  “Oh?” she voiced, unable to help herself.  The forces of the Inquisition of old must be writhing around in their graves right now.

The Commander cut in then.  “I still disagree.  The Templars could serve just as well.”  Ailla felt herself swallow involuntarily as his gaze had swept over from Leliana to her.  Why was he looking at her like that?  His eyes were either offering the simple suggestion of _consider the Templars_ , or they said _whatever opinion you hold of the Templars, now would be the time to move on from it_.  Maybe it was both, but either way, she felt uncomfortable and irritated under his gaze.  

They continued to argue amongst themselves.  Even if Ailla _considered_ the Templars, they did not seem like the practical choice.  She didn’t doubt that they’d have the ability to combat whatever passed through the Veil but it was her Mark that would close the Breach, and only the Mages could give her the power to do it.  Right now, she did not see another option, despite the unknown, possibly catastrophic results of pouring more magic into the Mark.  

She was about to voice her decision when Josephine spoke up, “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet.  The Chantry denounced the Inquisition - and you, specifically.”

Ailla felt a pang of annoyance.   _It’s not as if the Chantry has done much for me anyway._  “Can’t we just ignore them?”

“If only that were possible,“ Leliana answered.  “We’re all heretics to the Chantry now and this limits our options.”

Josephine sighed. “Approaching the Mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.”

Her.. confidants did come up with a plan.  She was to meet a chantry Cleric in the Hinterlands to discuss further options with the Chantry.  Apparently this Mother Giselle had asked for her personally, and despite their assurances that the cleric was a kind-hearted pacifist, Ailla couldn’t help the suspicious feeling that crept in and nestled into her chest.  Perhaps that was simply her feeling paranoid.  However, she yielded, agreeing to travel to the Hinterlands and into the midst of a rogue-Templar and rebel-Mage squabble, knowing that Mother Giselle was the only hope that they had of appealing to the Chantry.  They also requested that she extend the influence of the Inquisition as far and to as many people as possible.

They would leave when she was ready.

Everyone was dismissed, and Ailla planned on waiting until everyone had left the room so she could have a few minutes alone with herself, just to think and figure things out.  

However, still facing the war table, she did not hear the door close behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder to see the Commander waiting for her, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other on the door.  “Coming, Herald?” he asked politely but something about how he spoke to her sounded reserved.

She stared at him for a moment trying to read an unreadable face before glancing back down at the map.  “In a moment,” she muttered.

 _Please leave._  Despite the Commander no longer being a Templar, the man still reeked of it.  The way he stood, the tone of his voice.  He was making it very difficult to bar old, unwanted memories.

“Very well,” he said.  She heard him step out of the room as well as the groan of the door as he was closing it but the sound stopped abruptly.  Ailla looked over her shoulder again.  “When you have some time,” the Commander said, “Would you mind meeting me at the training grounds before you leave for the Hinterlands?”

She felt her eyebrows knit together and her eyes narrow slightly, still unable to pick up anything in his expression.  He didn’t seem phased by her reaction.  His gaze was as steady as stone. She suppressed an irritated sigh and just nodded.  “Certainly, Commander.”

“Your Worship.”  And with that, he left.  

Ailla hung her head, closing her eyes.  She inhaled slow and deep, contemplating screaming out her frustrations, cursing the situation she found herself in, but thought better of it.  The walls were stone but there were eyes and ears everywhere in the Chantry.  Instead, she exhaled through her nose, attempting to calm herself.  The sooner she talked to this cleric, the sooner she can get the mages’ help and end this whole disaster.  

Then she could leave and never look back.

  
_Let’s just… see how this goes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, for reals this time! I know this chapter started out a little slow and focused mostly on Ailla herself but I wanted her character to be considerably established first before moving on to the juicy stuffs! Thanks again, and I look forward to writing more for you guys!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	2. An Open Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise as the Commander attempts to relay how important the Inquisition is to the Herald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it to the second chapter! I hope you enjoy it as much if not more than the first one (I'm assuming you enjoyed it or else you wouldn't be here, right?). I also hope to continue writing at a decent pace, something not too fast but also not too slow. Any feed back would be helpful and appreciated! Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Cullen closed the door behind him but remained where he was for a moment.  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his middle finger and thumb, releasing a long sigh.  Something about the way that woman kept looking at him - it was maddening.  Despite her visible efforts to try and hide whatever ill feelings she had against the Templars, her eyes had betrayed her completely.  He was no longer a part of the Order but he could clearly see that she had already dismissed him for having been one of them.

He pressed on, leaving the Haven Chantry and making his way to the training grounds just outside of the village, the crunch of snow and dirt under his heavy boots.

Cullen couldn’t shake the site of the suspicious gaze that the Herald had given when he’d asked her to meet with him.  It had took every fiber of his being to remain composed, to not glower back with the same disdain.  The position Cassandra had granted him was a professional one, and by the Maker he’d act like it.  He understood that the Templars were far from perfect, especially in light of more recent events.  There were also times when he felt just as ashamed as he did proud to have been a Templar and the Knight-Commander in Kirkwall.

But this woman wasn’t even giving him a chance.

Not to mention that everything about her screamed that she wanted to be anywhere else but in that room.  She remained quiet and passive, even irritated, through most of the meeting, and when she did speak, he felt that it was more out of wanting to get things over and done with.  He did not put much faith into this Herald of Andraste and hoped that along the way, they may find a more suitable method to closing the Breach.  Whatever reason she had to stay with the Inquisition would not be enough if her attitude didn’t change.

Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.  It felt painfully tight today and the cold didn’t help.  Part of him felt guilty for the how negatively he thought of her.  

He didn’t fall short when it came to reading and gauging others and his first impressions were normally correct but as of now, she was their only hope and perhaps a brief conversation with her would prove him wrong.  Whether or not she was truly chosen by the Maker, she was thrown into a nearly impossible situation and maybe her behavior was simply a reaction to the stress.  That, he could understand.

Otherwise, maybe he could come to terms with her contempt with his Templar background once - if - she decided to disclose her reasons to him.

After all, he did have to work with the woman.

* * *

 

Ailla passed through the village, feeling an uneasy pit in her stomach.  No matter what path she took, stares and whispers followed her.  They voiced doubt, fear, anger, suspicion, and it was all directed at her.  She kept her eyes forward, back straight, arms at an easy sway at her sides.  She wasn’t going to let these people get to her and she would make that clear.  As long as she could get the job done, it didn’t matter what they thought.

“Maker be with you, Herald!”

Ailla stopped abruptly, glancing around to find the source of the voice.  Near one of the cabins she had just passed was an older woman, perhaps in her fifties or sixties, waving at her with a warm smile on her face.  In her other arm, she clutched a shallow wicker basket filled to the brim with Elfroot.  Ailla swallowed, suddenly feeling on-the-spot and uncomfortable.  She couldn’t very well just ignore the woman.  Tentatively, she raised her hand and gave her a small wave back, the corner of her lips pulling up just slightly to return the smile.  “And.. to you,” she responded, forcing what she hoped to be at least a bit of sincerity in her voice.

The woman’s smile broadened before she nodded her farewell, disappearing into the cabin.

Ailla remained where she was, unsure of what to do with herself or the goodwill that the woman had just imparted onto her.  Though she had fine intentions, Ailla couldn’t help but feel even more troubled.  After another brief moment of thought, she then realized what was eating at her: would the woman have been so inclined to wish her well if she knew that her Herald of Andraste was truly a heretic?

She breathed in deep through her nose in an attempt to calm her nerves and it was then that she finally realized how cold it was outside.  She fought the urge to rub at her arms for warmth.  Something told her she would need to get used to the cold.

The whispers continued but they had taken an unexpected shift.

“It’s the Herald of Andraste..!”

“She is the one stabilized the Breach.  Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Can she truly close it?”

“She is much prettier than I had imagined.”

Heat rose to her cheeks and she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or irritation, or both.  She realized that their talk about her changed completely when she moved farther from the Chantry, where most of the clerics remained just outside of the building.  It was expected of them to doubt her, to have ill feelings toward her.  This was something Ailla could handle, something she was used to.  But as she roamed deeper into the village, it was apparent that most of the villagers thought differently, despite the Chantry’s denouncement of her.  She was their hope, their link to survival.

Ailla was their savior.

Despite the weight on her shoulders growing more heavy with every word she overheard, her pace quickened.  She wanted to desperately to escape their gazes.

It was  _these_ people that were going to get to her.

She passed through the village gates, the guards greeting her as she did, “Your Worship.”

 _I don’t know how much more of this I can take._  

The clang of swords and shields replaced the whispers and she let herself bask in the sounds.  Her head rested back, face toward the sky, as she closed her eyes, letting the cold wash over her.  She decided that it felt better than the warmth in her cheeks.

Another sharp, clanging sound caught her ears and it was too consistent to be swordplay. She glanced around until she spotted the smithing benches.  She felt her shoulders slump in relief.  Metalsmiths meant daggers and daggers meant never having to repeat the horror of trying to use a bow ever again.  On the way to the forwarding camp, she and the Seeker had encountered one of the demons from the rifts and the only weapon Ailla could find was a bow and a few loose arrows some poor, dead sod had left behind.  

She knew the basics on how to shoot but that didn’t mean she was good at it.  She missed four times out of five but at least the one shot had pierced through the demon’s head.  Pure luck.

“Herald,” a voice called, and Ailla turned her head to see the Commander gesturing to her.  

_Oh, right._

The snow gave way under her footsteps, her boots sinking a few inches deep with each step and she was grateful that they were made out of leather.  Ailla weaved past the sparring soldiers, intrigued by their movements and footwork.  Some pairs were sloppy while others seemed seasoned.  She’d never fought with a longsword and shield before and she felt impressed with the Seeker’s strength in being able to do so.  The woman wasn’t large by any means but she fought like nothing could knock her off of her feet.

The Commander had briefly turned his attention to a pair of soldiers sparring before him.  “You there!  There’s a shield in your hand - block with it!  If this man were your enemy, you would be dead.”

She had to hand it to him - the man had the undeniable aura of authority but such was the temperament of a former Knight-Commander.

Ailla stopped a couple of feet away from the Commander, understanding that she had to be at least slightly near him to hear him over the sparring.  “You wanted to speak with me, Commander?” she spoke as politely as she could muster.  She flinched at her own voice - too polite, too fake.

He turned to her and didn’t say anything for a moment.  He seemed slightly surprised to see her, but then she realized that his eyes briefly rested at her neck, where a jagged scar ran from her ear to her clavicle.  Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it in the dark area of the war room but out here it was plain and easy to see in the sun’s light.  She gave him a little credit as his eyes flickered quickly from the scar to her eyes, and he immediately composed himself.

He crossed his arms over his chest before sweeping his gaze over the training grounds. “We’ve received a number of recruits - locals from Haven and some pilgrims.”  He glanced at her.  “None made quite the entrance _you_ did.”

Her lips pursed.   _Something sincere, something sincere_ …”I.. just hope I can help.”  

It was more or less true.

The Commander eyed her for a moment before responding, “As do we all.  It is enough that you would try.”

He nodded his head to the side as a gesture for her to walk with him.  Ailla obliged, still unsure as to why exactly he wanted to speak with her.  He went on, explaining that he had been recruited to the Inquisition at Kirkwall during the Mage uprising.  Apparently he had seen firsthand what kind of destruction magic could cause.

_Was it more or less devastating than the Right of Annulment?_

“Cassandra sought a solution,” he continued.  “When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause.  Now it seems we face something far worse.”

They stopped near the edge of the camp and Ailla looked up at the Breach.  The green ominous glow was spilling over the mountain.  She gave a small shake of her head.  She’d never seen anything like it and just looking at it made her feel a sharp sense of futility.  “The conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky - things aren’t looking too great, are they?” she muttered.

“Which is why we are needed,” he stated firmly, meeting her eyes again.

She didn’t say anything in return and instead waited for him to reach his point.

“The Inquisition could act while the Chantry cannot,” he said, his voice rose slightly but not out of anger.  It sounded more like.. passion, or pride.  “Our followers would be a part of that.  There’s so much that we…” He stopped and sighed, shaking his head.  “Forgive me, I did not ask you to come meet with me only to give you a lecture.”

She stared curiously at the Commander, and for the first time she didn’t feel put off by his presence.  The way he spoke about the Inquisition, it reminded her of - no.  

_No.  I don’t think about that anymore._

It reminded her only of how Templars are trained to feel about the causes they fight for - that their way is the right and _only_ way.  

Ailla folded her arms across her chest expectantly but it was also partly due to the cold.  An icy gust of wind had finally broken through her defenses and she shivered.  “Then why did you ask me to come, Commander?”

“How are you?” he asked, a little too quickly.  

Her eyebrows rose in disbelief.  “How… _am_ I?”

The Commander’s composition crumbled slightly, his head twitching to the side as his brows knitted together, an expression that told her that that wasn’t quite what he wanted to ask.  He closed his gloved hand into a fist and brought it to his mouth, clearing his throat. Collecting himself, he tried again, “What I mean to say is - this must be difficult for you.  Stressful.  I cannot imagine someone being caught in a situation like this and being okay with it.  Not immediately, at least.”

The suspicion returned.  He asked her to meet with him to… offer his sympathies?  No, that couldn’t have been the reason.  The middle of her brow creased and her eyes narrowed as she tried hard to read the Commander.  There was something he wasn’t saying.

This charade of politeness wasn’t working for her and she decided this time to be blunt, something she was infinitely more capable of.  “What are you playing at, Commander?” she asked as she stared hard at his face.

That seemed to catch him off guard and she felt a small swell of pride in her chest.

“I.. Forgive me, Herald,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.  He inhaled deeply, as if preparing himself for his next sentence.  “You seemed perturbed when Cassandra referred to me as Knight-Commander and…” he squared his shoulders then, resolve settling into his stance.  It seemed like he finally decided to spit it out.   “And I wanted to know if my background is going to cloud your judgment when it comes to making decisions in the future.  Frankly, you also appear as if you truly want nothing to do with the Inquisition.”

Her chin turned up as it finally dawned on her - the Commander wanted to gauge her.  He wanted to know if she was going to put her _heart_ into the Inquisition, if she would do everything she could to help end the chaos.  And he thought he would appeal to her by pitying her?

Ailla dropped what pleasantries she had been able muster and glared openly at the Commander.  “I will not give you an answer,” she responded, her jaw muscles jumping beneath her skin as she clenched her teeth.  She turned to leave but stopped, looking to the side at him with hard eyes.  “The next time you want to speak with me, be honest with your intentions and ask me directly what you want to know.  I will answer you then but not under the false pretense that you actually care about my well-being.  Good day, _Knight-Commander_.”

She left him then, not looking back.  Her skin felt so hot that she thought she would melt the snow beneath her.  She wondered if her anger was uncalled for but that was exactly the kind of underhanded behavior that drove her to want nothing to do with the Trevelyans and their politics.

But Ailla wasn’t sure of what she felt more angry at - the Commander’s nerve, or the fact that he had laid out in front of her the very thoughts she wanted to hide.  He had read her like an open book, despite her trying her best to mask herself.  She decided that she needed to improve her mask.  If the Seeker, or any of them for that matter, discovered her heresy, they would question her motives.  She would again be a suspect of the Divine’s death, or so she believed.  Ailla couldn’t be sure, of course, but it is better to be safe than imprisoned... or dead.

Ailla too found herself questioning why she stayed but she pushed the thoughts aside.  For now, she did not want to think.  She wanted two daggers in her hands and a training dummy to punish before traveling to the Hinterlands.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, you finished it! Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed it. :)
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	3. Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Hinterlands shows Ailla that perhaps she wasn't entirely justified in her hate for anything Templar.
> 
> In the mean time, Cullen creates a strategy on how to approach the Herald without furthering her animosity toward him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bwuahaha, here is the next chapter! I've been worried that I've been making Ailla too hateful to make any kind of romance with Cullen realistic but as I was writing, I saw an opportunity that I seized. It wasn't exactly what I'd expected but it works! Or at least, I hope it does. Things may become more solid in the next chapter with Ailla's perspective. Anyway, thanks for reading! Any feedback would be appreciate!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

How are you?   _How are you?_

Cullen was kicking himself repeatedly.  To an outward spectator, it would seem that the Commander was deep in thought, perhaps contemplating what the Inquisition’s next move might be or thinking of new ways to improve the training of the new recruits.  They would not be entirely incorrect.  He was indeed deep in thought but he wasn’t thinking strategy - not in terms of something militaristic anyway.

Much to his dismay, his mind continued to replay his conversation with the Herald.  It had been disastrous, a complete and utter failure, and the Commander never responded well to failure of any kind.   _‘How are you?’ Maker’s breath, what was I thinking?_  

Perhaps the Herald was right - he should have just been honest and voiced his concerns like a professional.  This was no time to dally about.  But Cullen found throughout his military career that he wasn’t particularly good with people.  Soldiers, recruits, anyone in the chain of command - fine, he spoke to with the utmost professionalism.  Talking strategy and making plans for an assault or preparing for the defensive - he was excellent at that.  Bloody taking the head of a man clean off of his shoulders with a blade - he could do it with his eyes closed.

But Maker forbid he try to have casual conversation with someone.

Accepting his faults with what happened with their conversation, Cullen felt inclined to have the Herald share some of the blame.  She had misread his intentions, for the most part, and she may not have if she didn’t act so damn cautious around him.  He did plan on simply asking her where she stood on the matter of the Inquisition, and the reason for her ill feelings against the Templar Order.  But she had been so withdrawn, he didn’t put much faith into her answering truthfully.  He figured that maybe if he could appeal to her situation, she may open up and he could begin to work with her before the animosity could further grow.

_Maker, she was right.  My actions are my own.  But did she have to be so bloody angry about it?_

Cullen grimaced, rubbing at his temple.  He couldn’t blame her for how he decided to approach things, no matter how she had been acting.  Thinking about it only worsened his headache.  

He would try again, honestly this time, when the Herald returned from the Hinterlands.

* * *

 

Ailla felt shaken and no amount of inner strength would hide that.  It wasn’t often that one experienced a paradigm shift in how one thought when it came to a deep-seated belief.  She hadn’t said a word since departing from the Crossroads camp after speaking with Mother Giselle.  

Her entire body ached and her legs were screaming from the entire distance they had walked to and throughout the Hinterlands, and they were _still walking_.  She thanked whatever good was left in the world that they were able to find and convince Horsemaster Dennett to join the Inquisition but that wasn’t until after slaying a rabid pack of wolves, closing a few rifts near the farmlands, and traveling every which way to find good locations for some watch towers to be built for boosted security.  She even helped one of the farmers find his lost druffalo that had wandered off by itself into some unforgiving territory.

If it meant being on a horse rather than on her feet for the rest of this crusade, then it was completely worth it.

But it wasn’t the walking or the wolves or the demons that distanced Ailla’s mind from her present surroundings.  It was the people she had encountered - mages, Templars, refugees, soldiers.  She wasn’t a stranger to the gruesome, nor were her hands clean of blood but she hadn’t expected to find herself in the midst of the battlefield of the mage rebellion; she didn't see past sealing the Breach when it came to what the others were expecting of her.  

They had told her to find Mother Giselle, who happened to be tending to the wounded.  To her, that meant finding this woman and convincing her to help them, and that would be the end of it. 

What a fool she had been.

The Inquisition would interfere with any skirmish between the mages and Templars that put innocent bystanders at risk, and that would mean dispatching the threat at all costs.  Ailla joined the Inquisition to seal the Breach but what she hadn't considered was the Inquisition's other priority, which was nearly if not just as important.  Alongside sealing the Breach, the Inquisition needed to stop the war before more innocent lives were needlessly lost.  

It had been yesterday when they were nearing the Crossroads camp and found the lands surrounding it riddled with apostates and rogue-Templars.  There were also farmers and travellers who were being caught in the crossfire - men, women, children.

Without so much as another word, the Seeker and Ailla’s other companions, Solas and Varric, had rushed headfirst into combat.  Ailla froze, her heart beating so loud in her ears that it nearly drowned out the sound of clashing metal and the crackling of flames that consumed nearby cottages and shrubbery.  Her eyes widened at the sight of Solas slaying another apostate without even flinching, before moving on to the next.

The apostates were justified.  They retaliated against the Templars who had destroyed an entire Circle of Magi due to the actions of one mad apostate.  Was she supposed to kill these mages who sought only justice against an unforgivable enemy?

“Herald!” the Seekers voice had yanked her out of shock.

Ailla inhaled sharply, her eyes flickering around until they landed on one apostate whose staff was alight with flames.  He stood barely ten feet from her. Three Templars charged at him from farther across the plains, swords high and shields protecting their fronts. Two came from his left and one from the right in an attempt to flank him.  The Mage lifted his staff and flames erupted in a massive explosion around one of the left-coming Templars. Despite the two being at least a good twenty feet from each other, the radius of the explosion was large enough to consume them both, or at least slow them down. The hot wind from the explosion gusted past her, tousling her hair and getting dust in her eyes. The mage turned to his right then, preparing to do the same to the remaining Templar. However, for Ailla, the battle seemed to freeze for just a moment as she spotted a woman and her child running across the field in a desperate attempt to escape with their lives. Ailla's breath caught as the little boy tripped on his tiny feet, and the mother stopped to scoop him up into her arms.

Maker, they were too close! If the mage repeated his spell, they'd surely be caught within the blast. Templars with their lyrium-induced abilities may be able to withstand the heat for some time before burning but the woman and child would scorch upon contact and die instantly. 

“No!” Ailla heard herself cry and before she could stop herself, she had lunged at the apostate.  She lifted her daggers high into the air and then struck them down, sinking them deep into each of his shoulders.  A sick, gurgling sound came from him before he coughed up a mouthful of blood. As he fell to his knees, the blades pulling out of his flesh, the flames dissipated, leaving the ground seared black in its wake.  The mage’s blood had managed to splatter across her chest, neck and face.  

Maker, she killed him.  She had killed a mage.  But it needed to be done, didn’t it?  He would have killed those two and he didn’t seem to care, as long as he cut down those Templars.  He was dangerous, was he not?  Were his actions still justified if that meant endangering innocent lives in trying to seek justice?

Ailla felt sick as understanding dawned on her.  Were the refugees more in danger of accidentally being caught on a Templar's sword or in the midst of a mage's spell? Having killed this apostate made her no different than any Templar fulfilling his or her oath. She had to push the thoughts away for now; she didn't know if she could bear them.

Ailla saw that the two Templars who had been caught in the apostate's flames had not perished by them, though their bodies were still badly charred, and instead fell to Varric's arrows. The dwarf had hurried over to the bodies to retrieve them, yanking them out a couple at a time. The third Templar had been dispatched by an unexpected Solas, a bright green light bursting around the man's head causing him to stagger back into the blade on the other end of the mage's staff. She didn’t have an opportunity to see if the woman and child had escaped safely as she heard someone approach her from behind.  Ailla whipped around just in time to see a Templar bring his sword above his head in preparation to cleave it into hers.

But his sword hadn’t fallen, as another blade ripped through his torso, the tip sticking red out of his stomach.  The Seeker removed her sword from the Templar’s body and pushed it aside.  She stepped toward Ailla, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it firmly but not to cause pain.  “No hesitation, Herald,” she said, their eyes meeting.  “Hesitation will get you and those around you killed.  But even so, you did well.  The woman and child are alive and we will show them to the Crossroads camp.”

Ailla could only nod, knowing that any and all gratitude would show plainly on her face.

They had stayed at the camp that night to rest before heading back to Haven.  She didn’t sleep.

Now, they were about an hour’s walk away from Haven where they walked in blankets of snow yet again and Varric piped up in attempt to break the silence.  “So, Red, where did you learn how to knife fight?  You did pretty damn good out there.  Those demons didn’t stand a chance.”

It took a moment for Ailla to realize that it was her that Varric was speaking to.  He must have been referring to her red hair.  She shook her head, almost thankful to have been pulled out of her own thoughts.  “Ah… my brother taught me,” she answered, and then immediately clamped her lips shut, swallowing hard.  Exhaustion was getting the better of her.  She hadn’t spoken or even thought of… him, in a very long time.  

“Interesting.  Well, I’d hate to see the guys that try to mess with him, huh?” Varric said with a laugh.

“Can we talk about something else?” Ailla said quickly, her heartbeat racing.  She was too tired to consider how she sounded but she wanted to move on.

Varric shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  So, here’s an idea I have for another serial…”

* * *

 

Cullen spotted the Herald and her party approaching the training grounds from the forest path and silently thanked the Maker that they’d returned safely.  He couldn’t help but raise a brow at the sight of the Herald who looked utterly exhausted.  It looked as if she was trying to walk with a ball and chain strapped to her ankles. Her armor was also caked with dirt and dried blood.  As she approached the gates, he was able to better look at her face and noticed the dark circles that sagged under her bloodshot eyes.  The Herald hadn’t slept.  

Before he could help himself, his eyes visited the scar he had seen on her neck when they had spoken a week ago.  It had been a deep cut and it didn’t heal over well.  He doubted she even had stitches for it.  

He fought the urge to glance away when her eyes met his, knowing it was rude of him to stare at her but he stood his ground.  He could not be indecisive with her any longer.  He needed to be clear and firm if he had any hope of her listening to his counsel.

Cullen expected the same look of contempt that she had given him during their last encounter but instead there was something in her eyes that seemed… yielding.  He creased his brow, feeling taken off guard by her yet again.  It was her that broke their shared gaze as she continued past him into the village.  

“Keep at it, men,” he called to the recruits as he turned to head to the Chantry himself.

In the war room, they discussed what further options they had.  Mother Giselle offered to give Leliana the names of the clerics in Val Royeaux who may acquiesce to hearing out the Inquisition.  It was a step in the right direction but was fruitless all the same.  Cullen knew that the Chantry wouldn’t listen and it was waste of time and resources.  They had to focus on finding other options - there had to be other options.

“Having the Herald address the clerics herself is not a terrible idea,” Josephine suggested.

Cullen gave a quick shake of his head, turning to the ambassador with a look of disbelief.  “You can’t be serious.”

“The Chantry’s only strength is that they are united opinion.”

He was relieved to find that Sister Leliana was on his side with this one.  “And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” she countered.

Josephine turned to the Herald, nodding to her politely.  “What do you think, Herald?”

Cullen glanced over to her.  Her hands gripped at the wooden table, her face down toward the map.  She looked deep in thought but her distant eyes told him that she wasn’t quite thinking about what they were currently discussing.  He tried to be patient.  At least she didn’t seem irritated today.  The Herald shook her head and pulled herself out of whatever reverie she was lost in.  

Cullen seemed to have spoken to soon as she released a sigh through a scowl.  “What can they do?  It’s just talk.”

“Do not underestimate the power of their words,” Leliana responded, and Cullen nodded in agreement, “And angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

The Herald shrugged dismissively, rubbing her forehead.  “So Cassandra will come with me."

Cassandra stepped up next the Herald, as if to amplify her statement.  “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names?  Use them.”

“But _why_?” Leliana shot the Seeker a look of disbelief and annoyance.  Cullen rose an eyebrow, feeling slightly amused.  Sister Leliana was always composed and admittedly did a better job than him at keeping it that way.  She must have felt strongly about how terrible an idea this was.  “This is nothing but a -”

Everyone seemed taken aback by the sharp, sudden sound of the Herald slamming her hands down onto the table, her scowl deepening.  She truly did look exhausted.  “What choice do we have, Leliana?” she nearly growled but her attempt in containing the rest of her anger was apparent, having already let some out.  Leliana remained silent but her lips pressed together into a tight line. The Herald spoke then with a slightly calmer, more even tone after she had taken a deep breath, “Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach.”

Cullen hadn’t taken his eyes off of the Herald, who had turned her back to them and started pacing in slow circles.  She was rubbing at her temples with her thumb and middle fingers, her head tilted back slightly. She looked as if she was trying to calm her nerves.  He certainly hadn’t expected _that_.  Cullen sighed, bringing his hand to the back of his neck to massage the kinks.  That was three against two, he supposed but in the end, it was the Herald’s decision.  

Cassandra too was staring at the Herald, looking a bit stunned.  But after a moment, she nodded with resolve.  “Use whatever influence you have to gather the clerics,” she told Cullen, “Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

“That’s it, then,” Josephine said with her usual aura of positivity, slightly easing the tension.  “Once we receive word that the clerics are ready, we will begin.”

Cassandra was the first to leave, then Lelianna, then Josephine.  Cullen was just about to do the same when he saw the Herald turn back toward the map, clutching at the table again.  Her eyes were connected to the spot on the map marked “Val Royeaux.”  

 _Are you alright?_ Cullen had opened his mouth to ask but thought better of it.  His concern would have been genuine this time but he doubted that the Herald would think so.  Instead, he took a deep breath through his nose and said, “Herald?”

She glanced up at him.  Beside how tired she looked, she made her face unreadable.  If she could have willed the bags under her eyes to disappear, she would have.  “Yes, Commander?” she said, softer than he had expected, though he assumed that it was simply from the exhaustion.  He was just relieved she hadn’t called him Knight-Commander again.

“Before you leave, I’d like to have a word with you.”  He chose his next words carefully, making sure that his gaze held hers.  “I would like to have... an honest discussion regarding your dedication and willingness to help the Inquisition close the Breach, among other things.  I would also like to know how my Templar background will affect whether or not you receive my counsel.”

The Herald blinked at him tiredly, and he realized that she was waiting for him to go on.   _She.. wants to know why_.  He continued, but felt a little more uncomfortable with what he was about to say next, “I.. I am asking because the others seem rather convinced that you are the only way to close the Breach but.. if you have any inkling in your mind that you will leave us before it is done, I want to have a plan, and in the mean time use our resources to search for another way.”

This was the truth. Admittedly, he had little faith in her resolve - maybe slightly more after the meeting today - and he wanted to be certain that they wouldn’t be left to drown should she decide to leave through the shadows in the dead of night.  He had read Cassandra's reports regarding the Herald's combat abilities and he had to admit - he was impressed.  He didn't expect a noblewoman like herself to be able to fight so well and it had given him a little more insight as to where she possibly could have received her scar.  Apparently she was an excellent stalker, light on her feet and silent when approaching an enemy, who would be dead before even realizing she was behind them.  He had no doubt she could slip away unnoticed, even if she was being watched.

The Herald was silent for a moment, and Cullen saw her dark green eyes searching his face.  He steeled himself, half-expecting her to refuse to speak with him or to just storm out of the room.  But then she nodded once and, to his utmost surprise, gave him a small smile, one corner of her lips lifting up just barely enough for him to see.  “Certainly, Commander,” she said.  He wasn't even able to pick up anything clear from her tone.  Her shoulders slumped a little before she added, “but.. perhaps after I rest.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, trying to sound understanding.  “Whenever you are well-rested.”

She nodded again before turning her back to him.  As she left the room, she reach back behind her head and released the bun her deep red hair had been wound into.  It fell messily past her shoulders a little ways down her back, and Cullen couldn’t help but think it looked nicer down.  He watched her become smaller with distance before she disappeared through the doors of the Chantry.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again.  Now to prepare what he was actually going to say...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer than the others but I hope you enjoyed! Again, any feedback would be helpful. :) Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	4. To Err is Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before travelling to Val Royeaux, Ailla seeks rest but only finds that she's constantly at war with herself since returning from the Hinterlands, unable to handle her own thoughts.
> 
> Cullen is determined to speak with the Herald, needing to find hope where there seems to be none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, I'm horrible at summaries. Anyway, here's chapter 4! We're getting a little more interaction between Ailla and Cullen here and hopefully decent development. I was having a lot of trouble being consistent with Ailla's character and I rewrote several parts of the chapter a few times over. If you think you've found any inconsistencies, let me know! I aim to improve! Any feedback is appreciated.
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Cassandra had been waiting for Ailla just outside of the Chantry.  As soon as she passed the threshold, Ailla heard the Seeker’s voice behind her.

“Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?”

Ailla stopped and turned around to see the Seeker leaning back against the wall, arms folded across her chest.  She was looking expectantly at Ailla, who felt her eyes narrow slightly at the woman.  She wasn’t sure what the Seeker wanted to talk about - how she froze on the battlefield?  Her cold silence on the way back from the Hinterlands?  “No, Cassandra, we are not going to talk about what happened,” Ailla responded, willing her tone to sound as absolute as Cassandra seemed to sound all of the time.  She turned her back to her but before walking off, she added quietly, “It will not happen again.”

Ailla dragged her feet through the snow, surprised she was still able to walk.  The cold did not bother her as much as it had a week ago.  A week ago, she didn’t feel so numb.  She kept her eyes ahead, focusing on the elements around her - the bustling of the villagers, the sounds of the training ground - rather than what was inside of her mind.  She wasn’t sure if she could come to terms with the _revelations_ that had dawned on her during their encounter with the apostates and Templars, not at the moment at least.  She would have more time and energy to think about things on their ride to Val Royeaux.

But now she needed sleep, however little she could get.  She entered the cabin that the Inquisition had offered her.  It was one of the smaller provisions but she paid no attention to that - as long as it had a sleeping mat and quilt, she was all set.  Across the cabin was a small fire place that she considered stoking but she found that the bed was closer and she collapsed onto it.  Ailla didn’t bother stripped her armor off.

It was one of those naps that seemed to end as soon as her head hit the pillow.  Someone had knocked on her cabin door and she jerked awake, feeling extremely disoriented.  

“Lady Herald?” a voice called.  She didn’t recognize it.  A woman, younger, timid.

“I’ll be there right.” She rolled herself out of bed, taking a moment to stretch out the kinks she received from sleeping in her armor.  Out of habit, she smoothed out her hair and clothes and found that she could do nothing about the crusted blood and dirt on the fabric.  With a sigh, she opened the door to be greeted by a young girl who couldn’t have been older than fifteen.  “Yes?” Ailla tried not to sound too tired or irritated; the woman looked nervous enough.

“I.. I’m sorry to interrupt your rest, Lady Herald,” the girl said quietly, unable to meet Ailla’s eyes.  “The Commander said you’d be in here and.. and you were asleep for a long time and I figured you might.. well, I figured you might be hungry.  You did just return from a long journey after all.”

Ailla glanced down and finally noticed the plate in the girl’s hands that held half a loaf of bread and a lump of cheese.  She stared at it for a moment, feeling confused.  This girl came to offer her food?  Just.. like that?  Ailla wasn’t sure what to say, and said the first thing that came to mind, “How… long was I asleep?”

The girl seemed more uncomfortable than ever, fidgeting with her feet as she look down at the plate.  “About five or six hours, Lady Herald.”

They had let her sleep that long?

Ailla shook her head, finally collecting herself.  She wasn’t used to being given things without having something expected from her in return.  Such was the life of growing up with a herd of bureaucrats.  Ailla realized that she should thank the girl for her thoughtfulness, not stand there like a blundering idiot. “I.. thank you,” she said.  She hoped she sounded sincere because she did appreciate it - it just surprised her.

The girl smiled shyly, still looking down toward the floor.  She held the out the plate with both hands and Ailla took it from her gently.  “Your Worship!” she said nervously before running off.

She watched her disappear over a hill before slowly shutter the door, breathing out a short laugh of disbelief.  The bread and cheese didn’t last long - Ailla must have been hungrier than she thought.  She sat on the edge of the bed, chewing absentmindedly, focusing on the taste and texture of the food.  She still wasn’t ready to think.

After, Ailla stripped nude despite the biting cold, started the fire, and warmed a pot of water over the flames.  She dipped a cloth in the water and wrung it out before scrubbing herself down.  Something told her she’d have to look at least a little bit presentable at Val Royeaux to pull this off and dried blood on the skin wasn’t going to cut it.  She sighed, wondering when and why she began to care about these things.  Was she truly letting the Inquisition change her so much, so quickly?  Being concerned about two innocent people dying is one thing but taking the time and effort to look nice?  

People believed in her.  Horsemaster Dennett, the refugees at the Crossroads camp, the girl who had offered her food.  The Seeker, Sister Leliana, Josephine, Varric, Solas. Ailla was their only hope but they did believe she could do this.  They needed to believe, for their sakes.

There were whispers at the back of her mind, however, and they were always present, no matter how occupied or exhausted she felt.  One always asked, _Are you willing to die for them?_  Ailla wasn’t sure how to answer that yet.  Her first impulse was, “No, of course not, I don’t owe them a thing.”   _You are a coward_.  “I’m supposed to throw away my life so easily?”   _Your life is worth more than thousands of others then_?  “I didn’t choose this.”   _But it’s the right thing to do_.  The bloody “right thing.”  Every hushed tone that nagged at each corner of her mind grew more and more aggravating and she wished they would shut up.  Right now, she was content to leave everyone believing what they wanted and if that meant in her, fine.  

The Commander was another story entirely. Maybe he was the smartest out of all of them to doubt her.  Of course, she hadn’t given him any reason to think so.  In fact, he was likely feeling rather peeved at the way she behaved around him.  Maybe her anger at him was misplaced.  She made a mental note to try and mend what damage she had done later.

Ailla scowled.  Did she really care about whether or not she had _hurt his feelings_?

She ran her hand down the bottom half of her face, sighing against her palm.  One incident… a single moment that turned her mind upside down and kneaded it like raw dough.  It shook her foundation, her certainty of how strongly she felt about the mage rebellion.  Though she believed the mages were justified, did that make her justified in hating the… She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts for now.  

 _Not yet.  Can’t think about that yet._  

Ailla finished washing her hair with the remaining water in the pot, which she had removed from the fire to cool.  She dried herself and slipped into a clean tunic, a pair of leggings and her boots, covering herself with a myriad of leather tans and browns.  She sat by the fire, wanting her hair to dry out before leaving lest it freeze on top of her head the second she walked out.  The dancing flames and crackling wood stole her attention away from her thoughts.

* * *

 

“Cullen, where is the Herald?”  He heard Leliana step into the room.

At the moment, Cullen was sorting out the map markers in correspondence with possible supply routes that had been confirmed in the scout reports.  After about ten minutes, he had given up on thinking about what he would say to the Herald and focused again on his work.  He decided that the words would likely come to his mind when it was time.  “Resting,” he responded without looking up from the map.

“Ah, I assumed as much.  She’s had a long journey, and an even longer one ahead.”  Leliana walked up to the war table, stood across from him.  Cullen glanced up at the Spymaster and saw her eyes darting all over the map from one location to another.  “I was hoping we could all meet once more to go over the details before going through with this mad plan.”

Cullen chuckled, despite himself.  “I understand.  Even the Herald can’t truly think that anything will come of this - not anything good.”

“She seems convinced,” Leliana sighed.

By now, Leliana’s ravens would have arrived at Val Royeaux and they would learn later that evening if a meeting with the clerics was even possible.  They would spend the rest of the night preparing if this was the case.  Cullen decided that he would need to speak with the Herald before then, otherwise he wouldn’t get the chance until after their return from Val Royeaux - if they returned.  He needed to resolve this distraction soon; even though he had buried himself in work, the Herald had nested herself into the back of his mind.  

Either she was going to put his mind at ease or she wasn’t.  If it was the latter, he would prepare and at least this way, he would be sure of what must be done. .

Cullen nodded to Leliana, “Excuse me.”

He left the Chantry and followed the dirt paths that led to the gates of the village.  Near it, they had provided the Herald with one of the empty cabins.  They hadn’t told her that a villager had offered to stay with a friend so she could have the cabin to herself.  Josephine had thanked the villager personally on the Herald’s behalf, which made the man feel happy enough.

Cullen stopped a few feet from the door.  He hoped she wasn’t still asleep as he would feel rude waking her.  He lifted his fist to knock but froze when the door swung open, the Herald stepping outside in such a hurry that she had nearly run into him.  

“Oh!” she gasped, her eyes wide with surprise as she quickly stepped back from him.

“Ah, forgive me!” he said hastily, feeling just as stunned.  His mouth hung open just slightly when he realized that the feeling did not come entirely from her sudden presence.  He noticed that her hair was down again, falling in dark red waves past her shoulders.  Her auburn locks neatly framed her face, which held a collection of fine, soft features and a complexion barely seamed.

He wasn’t sure what had changed.  He hadn’t really thought about how she looked, only that she was the Herald and that she seemed to hate him.  Maybe he only ever saw her anger, her contempt for him, and that in turn contorted the way he saw her; he hadn’t realized how attractive she was.

_Are you mad?  She’s the Herald.  You can’t think that way._

And then she was yelling at him, her eyebrows knitted together in that same familiar, aggravated manner that he was used to seeing.   “What are you trying to do - frightened me to death?!”  

Cullen blinked hard and shook his head free of whatever trance he’d lost himself in, struggling to learn how to speak again.  “I.. I’m sorry.. I…”

The Herald closed her eyes and huffed out a sigh.  “No, I’m.. I’m.. ready to talk, if you are, Commander.”

* * *

 

When Ailla had opened the door, she nearly jumped out of her skin, her heart shooting up into her throat.  She was leaving to meet with the Commander, no longer able to stand being by herself with the unwanted thoughts pushing their way to the forefront of her mind.  She found him standing at the door, the unexpected figure forcing a gasp into her lungs.

Annoyance instantly settled into her chest and she yelled at him before she could stop herself.  Oh, the look on the Commander’s face as he stuttered out his apology...  Ailla reeled herself in, feeling contrite.  Ugh, guilty, for goodness sake.  A week ago, that would have made her feel downright proud of herself.  But she realized she could stand to be civil around the Commander and, at the very least, refrain from shouting at him in public.  She closed her eyes and collected herself, preparing her apology.  “No, I’m… I’m…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.  “..ready to talk, if you are, Commander.”

_Damn it, that’s not right._

The Commander nodded and cleared his throat, looking eager to move on from what just happened.  He held his hand out to the side and gestured for her to follow.  At least she knew what he wanted to talk about this time.  They walked through the gates at an easy pace, passing the training ground and following a dirt path that wounded around the village.  He apparently wanted to be alone.  If she had to guess, it was for the sake of morale.  It wouldn’t bode well if the recruits overheard their Commander openly doubting their Herald.   Always thinking strategy, this one.

Ailla clasped her hands behind her head, gazing up at the sky.  If she didn’t look directly at the Breach, the green light casting its hue across the clouded darkening sky was almost.. pretty.  The sun barely peeked out from behind the mountains, the orange glow of its rays rapidly fading.

They walked in silence, the snow crunching under each of their footsteps.  She glanced sideways at him and he looked to be thinking.  About what to say, maybe?  Neither of them had said a word to each other since they’d left her cabin.  The Commander wanted to speak with her yet had nothing to say?  It seemed like he had quite a lot to say to her earlier that day.

“Need help, Commander?” she asked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.  She wondered if that sounded as snide to him as it did to her. _Civil, damn it._  

He looked at her as if just remembering that they were walking together.  A deep sigh escaped through his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck, craning it a bit.  “Forgive me.  I’m afraid I would just be repeating myself, and it would be just as unpleasant to say it now as it was this morning.  I.. assume you agreed to talk with me because you approved of the subject matter.”

“More or less.” Ailla shrugged, kicking a pebble with the tip of her boot.  She watched it patter and roll several feet from them.  

“And.. what do you.. you said you’d give me an answer if I were to ask you honestly,” he said finally.  He looked her in the eyes then, looking more decisive now that he had actually gotten the words out of him.

“That’s right,” Ailla said with a nod.  She found herself stopping in the middle of the dirt road, her arms crossed over her chest as she shifted her gaze forward, looking into the distance.  It was only right for her to be honest since that was what she had expected of him.  The honest to Maker truth was that she wanted to be able to trust his counsel.  She wasn’t sure which whisper in her mind was keeping her here with the Inquisition, but as long as she remained, she too would need help.  Admittedly, the Commander was intelligent, determined and passionate about the Inquisition, which made him too valuable an asset for there to be distrust between them.

However, trusting him would mean accepting the fact that he had been a part of the Order, a Knight-Commander no less.  Would that not in turn be accepting the revelation that had hit her right in the jaw and rattled her brain inside of her skull yesterday?  She would never otherwise trust a Templar, even a former one.  These very thoughts that she had been trying to avoid for the past day and a half had come crawling out of their hiding space; it made her stomach turn and heat began to boil inside of her chest.

Ailla hadn't trusted Cassandra to begin with either - the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order went hand-in-hand, after all, on either side of the Chantry's lap - but having fought by her side every day since the moment they met seemed to have an adverse affect on distrust. Not to mention the woman had literally saved her life. It would be hypocritical of Ailla to trust a Seeker over a former Templar.

_It wasn’t a Seeker who-_

“Herald?” the Commander interrupted her thoughts, his tone patient, gentle even.

Her eyes shifted over to him and she saw that he was staring at her neck, where her scar was.  It wasn’t until then did she realize that she had been absentmindedly tracing the tips of her fingers up and down along the uneven line of skin.  Ailla self-consciously closed her hand into a fist, holding it against her chest.  “Listen, Commander,” she began, finding herself unable to look at his face, her eyes instead darting randomly to different areas of his torso.  “I don’t want to waste anymore of your time with this so here it is: my views on the Order will not affect how I receive your counsel.”  

Her throat felt tight but she tried to speak as clearly as she was able, not wanting give him anymore reason to doubt.  Ailla forced herself to meet his eyes.  This was much more difficult to say than she had first imagined, so she spoke slow, steady, “I would be a fool to ignore any of my advisers and it wouldn’t help the Inquisition.  I will see this through.  I will not run.  Would I have chosen this?  No.  Absolutely not.  I wouldn’t have even been at the conclave if I had that choice.  But as long as I am your only hope, I will close the Breach.”

They stood there for what felt like ages, just staring at each other.  Ailla had said her piece; now she waited on the Commander, who chose now of all times to be completely unreadable.  She was telling the truth and she hoped he saw that.  If she had learned anything in the past week, it was that she would need support from her comrades.  The Commander needed to believe her as much as she needed to trust him.

Finally, the Commander let down his defenses, looking both surprised and satisfied.  Ailla raised her eyebrows as he smiled.  It was barely half a smile but it was genuine, something she had never seen from him before in the little time she had known him.  He was always so serious and composed and when he wasn’t, he was embarrassed for not being serious and composed.  She.. liked his smile. It made him seem more human, less Templar.  “I’m glad to hear that, Herald,” he began.  “With all due respect, that wasn’t at all what I expected.”

“I understand.”  He believed her - good.  It was the truth after all. If she could to trust Cassandra, a Seeker - or Leliana, for that matter - with her counsel, then she could find it in herself, however deep, to trust the Commander with his. Now they could both move on from this mess.  However, she wasn’t yet sure if she could entirely move on from how she felt about the Templars.  Hate wasn’t something so easily dispersed with one incident, even if she had been met with some kind of understanding of them.  To Ailla, they were still a band of hypocrites who had too much power handed to them by people who shouldn’t have had that power to begin with.

But, like it or not, she had a new perspective to look from.  There would be moments in the future when she would need to consider this perspective, particularly regarding the mages, and she wasn’t quite looking forward to it.

“We should head back,” the Commander suggested, nodding his head toward the village.  “Leliana wanted to meet with us all tonight to prepare for tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, that,” Ailla muttered.  She turned back to walk the path they had come and the Commander followed into step beside her.

Her eyes were ahead but from her peripherals, she could see that the Commander was watching her.  She folded her hands behind her head, glancing up to see stars now, the nearly-full moon lighting their way back to the village.  He spoke up then, “So, now that you’re considering my advice, could I possibly convince you to change your mind about Val Royeaux?”

Ailla chuckled humorlessly.  She tilted her head to the side, giving the Commander a small smirk.  “Not a chance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping this chapter didn't bore you guys too much. I realize that it was a pretty slow chapter. At the pace that I'm writing at in correlation to the events in the game, this is going to be a LOOOONG series, so I guess strap in for the ride. Looking forward to finishing it with all of you! Thanks!
> 
> -ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	5. Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailla tries on a new attitude when it comes to helping the Inquisition and Cullen takes notice. 
> 
> Lately, however, Cullen feels as though he's been noticing a little too much about the Herald, and it's troubling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad summary is bad. Just don't read it, or maybe I should just stop writing them.. ANYWAY, here ya go. I do hope you like this chapter. WE'RE GETTING THERE, GUYS. As always, any feed back would be helpful! Mini-questionnaire in the end-notes for you to help me improve my writing/the story! Thanks!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

The next morning was off to a rough start.  Outside of the Chantry, Cullen heard a crowd of people gathering as a mage and a former templar fell into a heated argument.  Just as he stepped outside and saw the ex-Templar preparing to draw his sword on the mage, he intervened, stepping right into the middle of the spat.  “Enough!” Cullen ordered, pushing each of them away from one another.

The ex-Templar looked surprised.  “Knight-Commander…!”

Cullen turned on the man and growled,  “That is _not_ my title.  We are _no_ longer Templars.”  He pointed at each man, addressing them both, “We are all a part of the Inquisition.”

The hoarse, nasally voice of Chancellor Roderick chimed in at this time, and Cullen almost regretted not remaining inside.  He could go a lifetime without having to speak with Roderick again and  without a single ounce of regret.  “And what does that mean exactly?” the Chancellor asked, antagonizing him.  “I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its Herald will restore order as you’ve promised.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes at the old man.  “Of course you are.”  He shook his head, then spoke to the crowd, “Back to your duties - all of you.”  They all soon dispersed after that, save for one Herald of Andraste, standing a few feet away behind the Chancellor.  He wasn’t sure how long she had been there or if she had just arrived.  She remained standing behind Roderick, unseen by the man, an amused look on her face.

Unfortunately, the Chancellor hadn’t disappeared with the crowd either.  Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pain he began to feel behind his eyes and at the back of his head.  “Mages and Templars were already at war,” he said aloud, not particularly to anyone.  “Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death.”

The Chancellor apparently felt a need to yet again provide his opinion, “Which is why we require the _proper_ authority to guide them back to order.”

“Who, _you_?” Cullen asked incredulously.  “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the conclave?”

Behind Roderick and out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw a wide grin form from the Herald’s lips.  He glanced at her and realized she was trying not to laugh but still couldn’t help smiling.  Her smile was stunning..  She locked eyes with him, and he saw her mouth two words: _good one_.  He suddenly felt distracted at the way her lips moved.

_Maker, Cullen, stop it!_

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called Herald of Andraste?  I think not,” countered the Chancellor.

The Herald rolled her eyes as Roderick spoke.  Cullen watched as she pretended to unhilt one of her daggers and gut herself with it, her tongue humorously sticking out of the side of her mouth.  He jerked his head to the side, stifling a laugh.   _Damn it._

The Chancellor eyed him in disbelief.  “Is this _funny_ to you, Commander?”

“If the _proper_ authority hadn’t completely failed,” the Herald chimed in then, stepping out from behind the Chancellor.  She had her hands behind her back as she walked to stand beside Cullen, leaning forward slightly.  She was clearly mocking the man, “the conclave wouldn’t have been needed.”

“So you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a murderer?  What of justice?”

Cullen cleared his throat and composed himself, folding his arms across his chest.  He leveled his gaze with Roderick’s, refusing to back down to this old fool.  “That won’t help restore order in the here and now.”

The man barked out a derisive laugh.  “Order will never be restored as long as this rebellion is allowed to fester.”

“Well,” the Herald shrugged dismissively, “let’s hope we find solutions and not a cathedral full of chancellors.”

Cullen felt one corner of his lips pull up.  “The stuff of nightmares,” he added, unable to help himself.  The Herald openly chuckled this time.

“Mock if you will,” Roderick said before turning his back to them.  “I’m certain the Maker is less than amused.”  He left then, finally.

“Remind me why you’re allowing him to stick around?” the Herald asked.  She turned to face him then, one hand planted on her hip, the other hanging at her side.  

“He’s toothless,” Cullen shrugged, “There’s no point in turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.  The Chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however, so I do hope you are prepared.”

“You give me so much to look forward to, Commander,” the Herald muttered.  “Speaking of, we’ll be heading out soon.  I’ll make sure they see reason.”

He nodded, trying to feel more confident in her, “I hope you’re right.  I’ll try to keep the place standing while you’re gone.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she snorted.  “See ya, Commander.”  She gave him a quick, two-fingered salute before turning to leave.

He watched the Herald go, his eyes not leaving her until she disappeared out of sight.  He felt like he was in an infinitely better mood, thanks to her and her antics.  She herself seemed to be in a fairly good mood as well.  Now how was that possible?  

 _I wonder what’s gotten into_ her.

* * *

 

“What a _fucking_ disaster,” Ailla cursed, throwing her hands into the air, and her steed whinnied in response to her releasing the reins.  She ruffled his coarse mane, “You’re damned right, Bartleby.  I’m glad you agree.”

“You are.. talking to your horse?” Cassandra mused.

“Better yet,” Varric added through a chuckle, “you named him _Bartleby_?”

Ailla roughly scratched her head, making a mess of her hair, still feeling unbelievably furious at how things unfolded in Val Royeaux.  Lord Seeker Lucius had embodied everything she hated about the Order - he was a self-righteous, arrogant narrow-minded prick if she’d ever seen one.  The Seekers, the Templars, the Chantry - all of them!  In the grand scheme of things, they were all the same, blinded by faith in something that didn’t even bloody exist.  Well.. nearly all.  She could only thank whatever good was left in the world that Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana  stood apart from them, despite their shared faith; she supposed there was a reason that  they were the ones spearheading the Inquisition.  

Why couldn’t anyone see the real threat?  One would think a big fucking hole in the sky pouring out demons would grab their attention.  But no - the Chantry and all of its entirety had their heads shoved so far up their arses with their own business, they couldn’t take one second to glance up.  

_The same could be said about the rebel mages…_

Ailla felt her fists clench tightly around Bartleby’s reins, a scowl contorting her face.  She had a lot of time to think on her way to Val Royeaux - too much time, in fact.  There was only so much desert and forest that could occupy her mind until she couldn’t distract herself any longer.  

She was forced to ask herself if mages truly could have free reign or if it was too much of a risk, something she had never once questioned in her life.  She had always known that mages _could_ be dangerous and to see it first hand, to know that those two innocent lives would have perished with just a flick of that apostate’s wrist…  But Ailla had known mages, kind and gentle who wanted nothing more than to use their abilities for good, or just to make their own lives simpler.  Didn’t _they_ matter?  No, of course not, not to the Chantry.  Not to the Templars bastards who stole frightened and confused children from their families and locked them up in gilded cages.  The Circle fortresses were nothing more than glorified prisons.

How could she ever doubt her belief in the good of mages?  Her hate for the Templars?  Especially after they had taken… _No!  Not now._   _There are more important things to worry about._

And now this Lord Seeker Lucius, who was positively proud of how many mages had been slaughtered thus far, was taking the rogue Seekers and Templars to Maker knows where.  Ailla knew it couldn’t be anywhere good.  Her blood boiled just picturing his fat, ugly face.  She was wrong; Lucius was different from the rest of them, and he was much, much worse.

“Grr..aaahh!” she tossed her head back and screamed in an attempt to release her frustrations.  Her voice echoed into the mountains, followed by the sound of birds frantically flapping their wings to escape the immediate threat.  The leaves rustled loudly from their sudden departure.

Ailla had told herself this morning, after the wicked nightmare she had experienced the night before, that she needed to curb her anger and not be so quick to temper.  She needed to focus on how to make things better, not on how shitty the situation was.  If she could do that, maybe she could get through all of this.  Before they left for Val Royeaux, Ailla had made it a point to talk with some of villagers - about the war, how their families were, if they had enough supplies - and, despite it being troublesome, it seemed to make them feel more at ease.  

 _Are you willing to die for them?_  She scowled, pushing the thought away.  

Not everyone was at ease.  A mage-and-Templar dispute had formed in front of the Chantry that morning, which the Cullen had readily dispelled.  He reminded them both that they were all a part of the Inquisition now.  The man really didn’t like being called Knight-Commander, which made Ailla feel better about him but at the same time guilty for having thrown that in his face before.  At least he had a sense of humor, she found; she had actually made him laugh, or nearly, anyway.  He was even more handsome when he smiled.

Ailla felt like smacking herself in the face.   _What was_ that?

“I may be wrong but you seem a tad bit angry,” Varric said, sounding clearly amused.  Ailla shot him a glare and he held up his hands in surrender, though a smile still played on his lips.  “Hey, look on the brightside, Red.  We’ve just recruited a fancy new mage - no offense, Chuckles - and some nutty archer and her mystery pals.  I’d call that progress.”

“And Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Solas added mildly from behind them.

Cassandra hummed thoughtfully.  “I am still not sure what we should make of her offer.  It all seems a little too convenient.”

Ailla hung her head, sighing heavily.  They weren’t wrong.  They did make some progress with the mages, even if it wasn’t guaranteed that they would help.  It was just good to know that they could be negotiated with.  However, Fiona’s timing couldn’t have been better, which was a cause for suspicion.  The fact that she risked being in Val Royeaux in the first place seemed strange enough.  “Yeah, I won’t get my hopes up but it’s all we’ve got right now,” she muttered.  

 

* * *

 

Cullen read the report that Leliana had given him from one of her scouts.  What was Lord Seeker Lucius up to?  It was bad enough that he was leading the rebel Order’s side of the war, but now he wanted to take the entire Order and leave the Chantry and the capital defenseless.  The Lord Seeker wanted their independence, but for what if not to wage more war?  Something wasn’t adding up and Cullen had a feeling that when it finally did, it wouldn’t bode well for anyone, even for the Templars.  

“Cullen, they’ve returned,” Lelianna poked her head into the war room.

He nodded and followed her out.  Across the Chantry hall, Cassandra and the Herald entered through the doors to meet them, the Herald walking in with a casual stride, her hands clasped behind her head and eyes toward the high ceiling of the Chantry.  He found himself wondering what she was thinking about at the moment.  It was apparent to him that she was presently going through some internal changes, and he wasn’t sure what had triggered them.

Everything about her - her attitude, the way she spoke, her body language - had given him that first impression that she’d wanted to be as far away from the Inquisition as possible.  But the night that she had promised to stay, it seemed like she wanted nothing more than for him to believe her.  Determination had shone brightly in her emerald eyes and Cullen came to a realization, one that he was certain she also had come to in that very same moment: they needed to trust each other.

The moon had been high above the mountains, spilling its light from the darkened sky and illuminating their surroundings with a soft glow.  An assortment of shadows descended upon them from the leafless branches above.  Cullen watched them slip slowly back and forth across the Herald’s face as a light wind whistled past them, disturbing the trees.  Each pass of the shadow made her eyes gleam as she stared up at him, assuring him she would see the Inquisition through.

The soft glow of her face in the moonlight in contrast to the intensity of her eyes had Cullen forgetting how to speak again; she was absolutely beautiful.

_It’s a simple truth.  No harm in thinking it..._

When she told him that she would stay, at least until the Breach was closed, he had felt relieved, and that relief may have been the only thing that could have pulled him out of his stupor.  Thinking back on it now, he felt annoyed with himself.  He didn’t have time to think about how the Herald _looked_ , pretty or not.  He had too much on his mind already, and his headaches were only getting worse with time.  

“It’s good you’ve returned,” Josephine greeted the Herald and Cassandra.  “We.. heard about your encounter.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow.  “‘Heard?’”

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana explained, in a matter-of-fact tone

They regrouped in the middle of the Chantry’s grand hall.  Cullen’s eyes met briefly with the Herald’s as she let her arms fall to her sides and straightened her gaze ahead.  She nodded to him in greeting, and he returned the gesture.  

Their discussion ensued just like he had expected and he suddenly felt like they were back at square one.  Though the Chantry was now well out of their way, for better or for worse, the original issue had not been resolved - mages or Templars?  Who would be more helpful?  Who would be more dangerous to the Herald?  Even with what happened in Val Royeaux, there had to be some parts of the Order that did not support the Lord Seeker and Cullen was sure to make this point.  However, their Ambassador seemed keen on sending the Herald to Redcliffe to meet with the mages. 

“What?  You think the mage rebellion is more united?” he asked her.  “It could be ten times worse!”

“Here’s an idea,” the Herald piped up, “You could all stop bickering and make a decision.”  All eyes had turned to her and she answered them with a thin, sardonic smile.  “Here, let me make it simple.  We’re going to Redcliffe!” she said with counterfeit enthusiasm, nudging Cassandra in the side with her elbow.  Cassandra didn’t seem to know how to respond.  

The Herald, looking more solemn now, glanced at each of them, “Look, I get it.  They’re both dangerous, but don’t worry about me.  I’ve been in danger ever since I stepped out of the Fade.  As far as I can tell, Fiona offered negotiations and Lucius wants nothing to do with us.  For now the choice seems clear.  Right?  Right.”

When she put it that way, it made sense but Cullen still didn’t have a good feeling about the mages.  Even if it was just his natural bias, he wanted to go with his gut on this one.  He rubbed at the back of his neck, the pressure in his head pushing down against his spine.  “I suppose we may not yet have enough influence to approach the Order safely…” he admitted.

The Herald nodded, looking resolved.  “To Redcliffe, then.”

If Cullen still had any doubts about her, they were gone now.  He couldn't pin her decision on any feelings she had against the Templars, not with that same look of determination in her eyes he saw yet again, and it was on fire now. He couldn't be certain but he thought he might have seen a flicker of fear there as well.

_Maker, what changed?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini-questionnaire! I aim to improve. :)
> 
> 1\. How is the pace? Too slow? Too fast?  
> 2\. Does the development between Cullen and Ailla feel realistic?  
> 3\. Do you care about Ailla's past? Am I writing her in a way that makes you want to know more about her?  
> 4\. Do you think I am staying true to the canon characters? If not, where am I wavering?
> 
> THANKS GUYS! I appreciate your feedback and any critique.
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	6. Just Before the Sun Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is worried for the Herald as it is decided that the Inquisition will pursue the mages.
> 
> Ailla awakes from a nightmare long before the sun rises. Instead of going back to sleep, she finds herself sparring with the Commander instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmahgawd, guys. This chapter was REALLY hard to write. I am simply no good at writing combat sequences. This one ended up being a lot longer than the others so I do hope you enjoy it. If there is any chapter that I'm really asking for your feedback on, it's this one. Same mini-questionnaire at the bottom as the last! Your honest opinions and critiques will be appreciated. Thanks for reading!! :)
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Cullen couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Cassandra and Leliana wanted to take Redcliffe Castle?  They’ve gone mad, absolutely mad.  “We don’t have enough manpower to take the castle,” Cullen stated firmly, “Either we find another way in or we give up this nonsense and go and get the Templars.”

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister,” Cassandra countered. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

Cullen shook his head, glancing at the Herald to see if she had anything to say about the matter.  She had one arm laid across her torso, her hand tucked in at her side under her other arm.  Her free hand was at her mouth with her fingers curled gingerly again her lips.  She was deep in thought, her eyes glued to the map on the table.  It would be her decision in the end and he hoped she would see reason.

“Alexius has asked for the Herald of Andraste by name,” Josephine added, sounding concerned.  “This is obviously a trap.”

The Herald lifted her gaze then, planting her hands at the edge of the war table.  She shook her head, breathing out a voiceless chuckle. “How kind of him,” she muttered.  “What does Alexius say about me?”

Leliana chimed in, “He is so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you.”

Cullen suppressed a scowl.  “Redcliffe is one of the most defensible fortresses in Fereldan.  It has repelled thousands of assaults.”  He turned to look at the Herald now, meeting her eyes.  “If you go in there, you will die and we will lose any means we have to closing the rifts.”  The flicker of fear he saw in her eyes made his stomach turn and he was suddenly picturing the Herald sprawled across the ground, beaten and bloodied, eyes wide and lifeless.  He swallowed, unsure of whether he cared more about losing their leverage or her dying. “I won’t allow it,” he finished, clenching his jaw.

In some way or another, the Herald kept making her way into his mind.  At first, the thought of her was just a festering wound, when he had doubted her willingness to see the Inquisition through.  Now it was due to her odd shift in behavior; she acted differently around him and in general.  Each time she returned to Haven, she looked more and more resolved, anxious to move onto the next step.  Unlike before, it seemed like she truly wanted to continue making progress without losing momentum instead of wanting to just get things over with.  Whatever it was, good or bad, she was on his mind.

On some days, when he felt overwhelmed with work and the pain in his head was nearly unbearable, he found himself thinking of the Herald and how she had nearly made him laugh aloud in Roderick’s face.  In hindsight, Cullen wished he’d just let it out.  He hadn’t had a good laugh in quite some time and it surprised him that the Herald of all people was the one who had given that to him. Thinking about that moment, about her general, turned his mood around.  His headache even seemed to ebb.  He didn’t know why the thought of her affected him this way but if it meant feeling less inundated with stress then it couldn’t have been a bad thing.

But the Herald being dead was.

“If we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we’ll lose the mages,” Leliana pointed out.  “And leave a hostile foreign power at our doorstep.”

Cassandra started, “The magister-”

“-has outplayed us,” he interjected, unwilling to budge on this one.  

The Herald released an exasperated sigh, scratching at her head with both hands.  “We’re not getting anywhere.  We can’t just give up, there has to be another way.”

“Wait.”  All eyes shifted to Leliana.  “There is a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family.  It’s too narrow for our troops but we can send agents through.”

Cullen shook his head, immediately seeing a flaw.  “Too risky.  Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” she replied, “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly.”

He turned that idea over in his mind for a moment.   _Damn it, that may just work_.  “Focus their attention on Trevelyan while we take out the Tevinters…” he muttered, stroking at his chin.  He couldn’t think of a good enough defense to dispute this.  It could very well work, despite the risks.  

The door to the war room opened then and a man with coiffed black hair and mustache barged in.  Cullen narrowed his eyes at the man, feeling put off by his sudden appearance.  “Fortunately,” the interloper said with confidence, “You’ll have help.”  The man’s tone carried the rich accent of a long-lived noble, and he looked every bit a noble as well.

A scout had followed in behind him.  “Commander, this man says he has information on the magister and his methods.”

“Dorian,” the man said, offering his name with a shallow bow.  He turned to face them all.  “Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help.  So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

No one seemed to object, and Cullen glanced at the Herald again. He decided that he would try one more time to convince her out of this and if that didn’t work, he could only hope for the best.  “This plan puts you in most danger.  We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this.  We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait.”

The Herald folded her arms across her chest and thought for a moment, her eyes darting across the map contemplatively, brow knitted together in concentration.  She shook her head then and looked up at Cullen, seeming to only address him, “We can’t let the mages slip from our grasp, not when we’re this close.  It’s dangerous, I know, but we have a better chance with them if Alexius and his men are the only threat.  Right now, the Order is a complete mystery.  We don’t know what Lucius intends to do with the Templars and we don’t have time to find out.  We need to strike now before Alexius withdraws his offer.”

Cullen was taken off guard as he saw a familiar look in her eyes, that same intense look she gave him the night she had promised to stay with the Inquisition.  She was searching his face, as if trying to gauge his reaction, and then it dawned him - she wanted him to trust her decision, to believe that it had nothing to do with the fact that the only alternative was the Templar Order.  That was why she was addressing him, and him alone.  No one doubted her like he had.

The Herald had assured him that his background wouldn’t affect how she received his counsel, and despite her decisions thus far, she had kept that promise too.  Cullen knew that.  She _was_ considering his counsel but simply believed that the mages gave them a better chance of success.  He couldn’t fault her for that and he didn’t want to.

As she continued to hold his gaze, all he could do was nod and respond with, “I understand.”

Cullen couldn’t be sure but he thought she looked relieved, her shoulders relaxing a little as she released a breath he hadn’t realized she was holding.  He didn’t know why she felt the need to reassure him but he was.. appreciative that she did, even though it hadn’t even crossed his mind that she was making biased decisions.  He had decided to trust her after all.  

“We will make the necessary preparations then,” Josephine told them.  “And we should be ready in the morning.”

* * *

 

The nightmares had returned with a vengeance.  Ailla could only assume it was due to the stress of everything.  She never much dreamed to begin with but ever since she had joined the Inquisition, the nightmares planted themselves in her mind and sprouted like weeds, each one gnarlier than that last.  They always began the same way.  

Ailla stood in the midst of the ruins that were once the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the ghostly green light emanating from the Breach spilling across every surface.  The Breach was unstable again and the Mark on Ailla’s hand burned like hot iron.  She fell to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping tightly at her wrist as if that might ease the pain but it only worsened.  She cried out, feeling as if something was trying to rip open the palm of her hand, grinding into her bones before cracking through them.

 _“You will fail._ ”  That voice… deep, sinister.. familiar...

“No…” she growled through clenched teeth.

“ _You will die._ ”

Ailla struggled to speak through the pain.  “No… I can’t..”

“ _And they will all perish because you are weak._ ”

Her eyes snapped open and she could no longer see the ground below her.  Instead, it was just red.  Deep red with blood that was soaking into her leggings as she knelt in it.  The blood was slowly rising, threatening to flood the area even though there were no walls around her that contained it.  Ailla released a horrified, trembling gasp as she saw the bodies half-submerged in the pool of warm red liquid.  The Inquisition insignia of Cassandra’s breast plate, Leliana’s lavender cowl, pelage mantle of Cullen’s coat, the golden silk of Josephine’s dress.  All of them.  Varric, Solas.  Disappearing under the blood bath.

The nightmare always brought something - or rather, _someone_ \- new each time she slept.  Sera.  Vivienne.  Blackwall.  Iron Bull.  Dorian.  It seemed like anyone who wanted to help her suffered.

Because of her failure.

“Ailla!” a young, female voice screamed, a voice from her past.  

The nightmare would resume its course then, as it ended the same way it always did right before she woke up.  A young girl, no older than fifteen, was being dragged away by two Templars through the rising pool of blood, toward a Fade rift that cracked open suddenly in their midst.  “Ailla!” she cried again, tears staining her cheeks.  Her short black hair was a mess around her thin face as one of the Templars yanked hard at her arm.

It didn’t make sense.  What was she doing here?  It was.. impossible for her to be here.  Yet there she was, struggling against the Templars’ grasp just like she had so many years ago.  Ailla couldn’t will her legs to move.  The pain was too much.  She reached out with her other hand but the harder she tried, the farther they moved away.  “NO!” Ailla screamed as the girl and the Templars disappeared into the rift.  Suddenly, a rope of green light tethered the Mark on her hand to the crackling rift and it came to an abrupt close, causing the explosion that would jolt her awake.  

Despite the bitter cold, she would wake up drenched in sweat, unable to sleep for the rest of the night.  Some nights, the dream would be less intense, blurry, surreal.  It was then when she could actually get some sleep.  But on nights like these, when it was so intense that she could feel the pain in her hand, she would only get a couple of hours in before she found herself awake long enough to see the sun rise.  That was the only solace she found after a night like that - the sunrise was beautiful up in the mountains, where it would cast its pink and orange hues across the white, snowy canvas.

It had been one of _those_ nights and Ailla didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep.  Instead, she got out of bed and slipped into her leather armor, getting ready for the journey back to Redcliffe later that morning.  She strapped her daggers to her back, pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and left the cabin.  

Just outside of the gates of Haven, Ailla sparred with a training dummy.  She chose one farther away from the tents so as not disturb the slumbering recruits.  Judging by the position of the moon, it didn’t look like the sun would be ready to take its place for another three hours.  She focused on making her strikes more precise, aiming for parts of the body that were difficult to protect even with a shield.  Of course, this would only apply to non-demon opponents.  With demons, she had to strike at the parts most lethal as fast and as hard as she could, and hope that she was able to make a quick kill out of it to avoid retaliation.  It was much harder to deflect an unpredictable demon than a swinging blade.

Ailla wasn’t sure how much time had passed before her thoughts started to become undesirable.  She couldn’t stop thinking about the voice from her dreams and she could feel the anger boiling inside of her stomach, sending hot steam into her chest.   _You will fail_.  She struck the dummy harder, cutting across its torso.   _You will die_.  Her blades pierced into the either side of its neck.   _And they will all perish because you are weak_.  Ailla growled into a cry as she hoisted her daggers high above her head, thrusting them down into the dummy’s chest, where its heart would be.  

She released her grip on the hilts, staggering back a couple of steps and leaving the daggers protruding out of the dummy.  Her chest heaved as she took in each icy breath, the cold feeling painful in her lungs.  Sweat gleamed across her forehead and she swept it away with the back of her hand.

“You leave yourself open on your left flank.”

Ailla whipped around, nearly falling back into the snow in surprise at the voice behind her - both from its sudden sound and from whom it belonged to.  The Commander stood not ten feet from her, arms folded across his chest.  He seemed all too ready for the day as well, fully armored with his sword strapped to his waist, despite the sun still hiding below the horizon.  What was he doing up so early? She saw his eyes move briefly to training dummy before meeting hers.  

“What?” she said, the word pinned between two heavy breaths.  How long had he been standing there?  Though her body had already felt hot from exertion, she could feel more heat collecting at her cheeks.  She felt.. embarrassed.  If she hadn’t been so filled with rage, she would have noticed his arrival.  “No, I don’t..”

The Commander chortled at her denial, giving her a small shake of his head.  “You do.  Not everyone may notice but those who may will use it to strike you down.”

That smile again.  More heat in her cheeks.  Her heart had already been hammering inside of her chest from pummeling the training dummy but it flipped at the sight of that blasted half-smile that barely revealed his teeth.   _Oh, this is ridiculous._  So the Commander was attractive.  Okay, _extremely_ attractive.  Fine.  So he looked at her in ways that no man had ever looked at her before.  Big deal.  So he was passionate, confident, intelligent, respectab-

_Oh for the love of…_

“Is something the matter?” he asked, no longer smiling.   _Thank the Maker_.  “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Ailla shook her head, waving her hand in dismissal.  He looked genuinely concerned.   _But why_?  “No, you didn’t, I just.. I’m.. You say I leave my left flank open?”  Why did she feel so damned flustered?  She forced herself to focus on something more important.  He was right; if an opponent saw one weakness, they would be foolish not to immediately exploit it.  

The Commander nodded, looking pleased that she considered his advice on the matter.  He let his arms fall to his sides as he walked over to the training dummy.  He pointed to the notch she had cut into the dummy’s shoulder.  “When you attacked here with your left hand, you were fine in having your right hand prepped to deflect a low blow from a sword, but here,” he moved his hand to the two parallel gashes on the dummy’s chest, “you struck for a hard hit, which is good because you would have cleared your opponent’s blade but you left yourself open on your left to their shield.”

Ailla stared at the Commander in disbelief.  He was able to deduce all of that just by watching her?  The man had known exactly where _she_ thought the dummy would have the sword and shield positioned just by observing the way she moved in and attacked.  “Maker, you’re _good_ ,” she breathed, giving credit where credit was due.  

He cleared his throat then, his hand moving to the back of his neck.  Was he.. Maker, he was blushing.  “Ah, yes, well… years of training, I suppose,” he said through a nervous chuckle, glancing away from her.

Silence fell as she said nothing in return, distracted by the heat that still lightly tinted the Commander’s cheeks red.  Could this man have really been a Templar?  She had always viewed the Order as a faction of arrogant people with too much pride, who acted as if they owned any place they sauntered into.  Perhaps he was simply.. different.  That, or Ailla was wrong about the Templars but she wasn’t willing to accept that, not when her nightmares were constantly reminding her otherwise.  She decided that the Commander was just different, the black sheep among the flock, which only strengthened his appeal..

_Andraste preserve me._

Just as she started to feel the discomfort settle in, she yanked her daggers out of the dummy and nodded her head toward a more open clearing.  “Care to show me yourself, Commander?” she asked, pointing one of the blades at his chest with a lazy, upturned grip.  

He shifted his gaze back to her then, raising his eyebrows in surprise.  “Really?”

Ailla nodded, walking backward toward the open space where they could spar.  Anything was better than uncomfortable silence.  “Really.  I use the same tactics on you that I did with the training dummy and you show me firsthand where I leave myself open.”  She realized that she had never seen the Commander in combat and her curiosity got the better of her.  Not wanting to give him all of the satisfaction, she added, “Who knows - maybe you were just pulling all of that out of arse.”

He chuckled, grabbing a shield that had been resting against a nearby tree trunk.  As he made his way toward her, he drew his sword and hoisted the shield in front of him, his confidence returning to him.  “As you wish, Lady Herald,” a smirk formed from his lips as he accepted her challenge.

For a moment, they just circled each other, each waiting for the other to strike.  Ailla could feel her heart beat picking up again from the excitement and the intensity of his gaze.  The look in his eyes matched that of a predator.  Suddenly, he lunged at her and they both found themselves within the heat of combat.  This wasn’t the first time she faced an opponent using a longsword and shield so she knew exactly when to evade an attack and when to parry one.  The Commander wasn’t as quick as she was but he made it up by being able to block most of her barrages.  Ailla had to resort mostly to dodging his advancements or risk being caught by his blade or clobbered by his shield.

In the end, it was strength and durability versus speed and precision.  She knew for a fact that he was more cut out for this and she would tire out first.  Ailla couldn’t have that and she wasn’t going to get anywhere until she disarmed him.

They must have woken the recruits because a small crowd had begun to form, some cheering for their Commander, others for their Herald.

The Commander made a broad swing outward toward her side.  Ailla jumped back, narrowly missing the tip of his blade as it swished past her stomach.  As his swing left his arm out and one of his flanks open, she took a fast step toward him and hooked one of her daggers behind his shield.  With all of her strength, she pushed out against it, throwing it out of the way of his torso, which was now completely open.

However, by the time she could recover from her movement, his blade was making its way back toward her for an inward swing.  She was too close to him to jump out of the way this time but it was just what she expected.  Ailla took her opportunity.  She turned on her heel and spun around.  Just as she reached the one-eighty degree point of her spin, so her back was facing his front, she caught the guard of his sword with the blade of her dagger and thrust it forward, right out of his hand.  Satisfaction curled up inside of her chest as she briefly watched it clatter to the ground and sink into the snow.

Her satisfaction was short-lived as she spun back around to follow up with another attack.  The Commander had recovered his defenses faster than she anticipated and she found his shield in between them once again.

_Shit._

He thrust forward with all of the force of a charging ram, bashing the shield right into her.  She only had enough time to cross her arms in front of her face to brace for impact, but the shield just smashed her arms into her face anyway.    Her daggers flew out of her grasp as she was thrown back a good four or five paces away from the Commander.  Her feet had left the ground and she landed hard in the snow, flat on her back.  The blunt pain came a few seconds later and she groaned, her brain feeling rattled against the inside of her skull.  She tasted iron in her mouth and realized that her bottom lip was bleeding.  If Ailla ever questioned his skills in combat, she sure as hell didn't now.

“Maker!” the Commander gasped.  She heard him throw his shield to the side as he hurried over to her.  He knelt beside her on one knee as she hoisted herself up onto her elbows.  Through the white spots floating around in front of her eyes, she saw the recruits murmuring amongst themselves, some looking surprised, others excited, a few worried.  

“She disarmed the Commander.”

“Pay up.”

“That must have hurt…"

“Look, she’s getting up.”

“Forgive me, Herald,” the Commander said, sounding remorseful.  He held out his hand to her as his eyes searched her face for a response.  He had that genuine look of concern on his face again, eyebrows turned up and lips pressed together in a tight line.  

Ailla did feel the heat of anger beneath her skin but it wasn’t aimed at him.  Rather, it was due to the outcome of the spar.  She had made a stupid miscalculation and if that had been a real enemy, she would likely be dead.  But instead of yielding to her anger, she gave him a tired smirk, wiping the blood from her lips, then took his hand.  “Don’t apologize, Commander.  I just didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your men.”

He shook his head, chuckling, as he hoisted her up onto her feet.  Ailla still felt staggered by the blow and she swayed, her head swimming.  The Commander placed his hands gently on her shoulders to steady her, and she could feel the warmth of his skin through his gloves.  “Are you alright?” he asked, his head tilting to the side to examine her face.  “Maker, you’re still bleeding.  I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

“Really, I’m fine,” she assured him, wiping away at the blood again.  She looked up at him with a small smile and suddenly realized how close he was, the heat beneath her skin no longer from anger.  

The Commander must have realized the same thing because he took a step back from her, gingerly removing his hands from her shoulders.  It didn’t really look like he knew what to do with them after but then he cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest.  He looked nervous again, struggling to meet her eyes.  “You are.. a formidable opponent, Herald,” he complimented.

“I, um.. thank you,” she said quickly, feeling as uncomfortable as he looked.  Ailla had also felt a little disappointed when he stepped away from her, and then the thought suddenly jarred her.  Did she.. _want_ him to be close?

He glanced over his shoulder at the recruits who had already dispersed and began gathering their things for the day.  “If you’re sure you’re alright then I should, ah.. get to work.  We should.. have another go at it when you return."  The Commander looked thoughtful for a moment before looking at her seriously now, holding her gaze.  "You have quite a day ahead of yourself as well.  Please... be careful, Herald.”

Ailla nodded and instead of watching the sun that was finally peeking out over the horizon, she watched the Commander retrieve his sword, slide it back into its scabbard and walk off toward the tents.  Her shoulders, where his hands had been, felt cold now as she recalled his warmth.  It was enough to make her forget about the ache in her body, the throbbing in her lips.  She thought about the tingle that the absence of his touch left behind instead of watching the sunrise, which was what normally chased off that last bit of nightmare that still haunted her mind.

_Oh, sweet Maker, this isn’t good.  This is not good._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini-questionnaire! I aim to improve. :)
> 
> 1\. How is the pace? Too slow? Too fast?  
> 2\. Does the development between Cullen and Ailla feel realistic?  
> 3\. Do you care about Ailla's past? Am I writing her in a way that makes you want to know more about her?  
> 4\. Do you think I am staying true to the canon characters? If not, where am I wavering?
> 
> THANKS GUYS! I appreciate your feedback and any critique.
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!
> 
> ~ninjanna138


	7. Modus Operandi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds himself worrying about the Herald who is taking care of business in Redcliffe.
> 
> Ailla is thrown into the future by Alexius' magic and finds horrors she couldn't even conjure up in nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY GUYS, HEADS UP! This chapter gets VERY AU-y. I wrote in a segment that didn't happen in the game and I'll explain why in the end-notes. I hope you like this turn of events. I needed something to jar Ailla's emotions and light a fire under her ass and I think it worked. Any feedback and critique is appreciated! Thanks for reading! Also, sorry for the fluff at the beginning and a VERY cheesy line near the end. Wheee~
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Cullen paced back and forth as he oversaw the training of the recruits.  They had greatly improved since beginning their training and he felt like they were ready for the field should duty call for it.  In his hand was one of Leliana’s reports.  Her agents had gone ahead of the Herald to Redcliffe for reconnaissance, only to confirm that the castle was just as fortified as they already assumed, and nothing about their plan had changed.  He was hoping for some good news but Alexius was a very cautious man.  It was up to the Tevinter to ensure that Leliana’s agents could infiltrate the castle while the Herald distracted the magister.  

Cullen hated the idea of leaving the fate of the Herald in the hands of a bloody Tevinter mage but the man was their only shot at succeeding in this mad plan of theirs.

Before he could help himself, he glanced over to the open space just beyond the training grounds where he and the Herald had sparred just earlier that day.  He had been unbelievably furious with himself for what he did to her, and it confused him.  The Herald had proven time and time again that she was a capable fighter, and wounds like the one she had received could only be expected during a sparring match.  She had also recovered rather quickly from the blow.

Even so, the mere image of her flat on the ground, blood trickling from the side of her mouth down her chin, due to something he did made his chest feel tight.  Even though _he_ knew that the Herald could handle herself, nothing about him hurting her made him feel good.  The instant she had fallen to the ground, Cullen feared resentment, which was only a further cause for confusion.  He cared very much about whether or not he and the Herald were on good terms and he didn’t know why.  He even felt relieved when she had assured him that she was alright.  And then she smiled at him..

Cullen felt the sharp, shooting pain behind his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.   _Maker’s breath_.

His gaze swept over the recruits now and he wondered if any of them would be able to defeat the Herald in a sparring match.  She had surprised him with her challenge, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t curious.  He quickly discovered that Cassandra’s reports did not do her justice.  When Cullen received word that the Herald of Andraste was a Trevelyan, he didn’t expect anything more than a fragile, inexperienced noblewoman who he would have to spend the time training.  He couldn’t have been more wrong.  The woman handled herself better with two blades than he had seen most others.  If it hadn’t been for his practiced reflexes, the Herald would have had a blade at his throat moments after she disarmed him.

And then he went a rammed a shield into her face.  “Maker,” he breathed, feeling angry with himself again.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he cared this much about having hurt her, and for that matter, being so concerned that he might upset her or ruin the good rapport they finally had.  All he knew for certain was that he _did_ care.  Sparring with her had been.. Maker, it had been _fun_.  Cullen couldn’t remember that last time he had called something fun.  He enjoyed having her around and found himself worrying when she was away.

Ever since she had left for Redcliffe that morning, he couldn’t turn his mind away from her.

“Commander?”

Cullen shook his head, finally noticing the scout who was holding a report in her hands and looking up at him expectantly.  Maker, how long had she been standing there?  He cleared his throat and took the report from her, “From Rylen?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Good, thank you,” he told her, giving the report a quick scan through.

She nodded and brought a fist to her chest in a salute before leaving.  How could he let himself be so distracted?  It did the Herald no good worrying for her like this.  There was too much work to do.  For once, he focused on the pain in his head, which was always a keen reminder that there was much more work ahead of him.

 

* * *

 

Ailla was experiencing nothing short of a nightmare but this time, she couldn’t wake up from it.  It was very, very real, no matter how surreal the idea of traveling through time was.  Redcliffe Castle had once been a mighty and majestic stronghold.  Now its walls crumbled, replaced only by the red lyrium deposits that sprouted from its foundation.  The castle had been destroyed from within.

As Ailla ran through the corridors in search for Alexius, she tried not to feel too ill.  Cassandra and Varric were with her now, and finding them in the state they were in was enough to make her want to fall to her knees with the weight of it all.  This was too much.  They would have ended up just like Fiona, with red lyrium growing out of their bodies, consuming them until they were no longer people.  Just thinking about it made her mouth dry and her throat tight.  She was so afraid.  This was what the future was destined to be if she failed.  If she and Dorian couldn’t find a way home, then she _will_ have failed.

Leliana was with them as well and Ailla couldn’t look her in the eyes.   Her face was nearly unrecognizable, thin and gaunt, scars etched into every inch of her skin.  Her sunken eyes held every bit of torture she experienced in the last year.  It was a cruel thought but Ailla could hardly distinguish her from a corpse.  

The castle halls seemed endless and with each step, Ailla was losing hope.  She didn’t know if she could do this.  Any of this.  Even if they did make it back to the present, what could she even do to stop all of this from happening?  She felt so lost, so afraid.  But they were counting on her.  Cassandra, Varric, Leliana.  All of them.  Dorian, Solas, Cull-.   _Cullen_.  The thought of him made her chest tighten around her heart.  Was he in the castle?  Leliana hadn’t joined them when they had originally met with Alexius but she was here now.  Which means he could be here as well.  Maker, what if they were torturing him?  What if he was nothing but a spire of red lyrium caged in a cell, waiting to be mined?  Ailla had to squeeze her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

Just as she felt like she was reaching her limit, they burst through the throne room door.   Alexius had his back turned to them, standing where the throne used to be.  A thin, ghost of a man was crouched at the magister’s feet, rocking back and forth on his heels, eyes wide and lifeless.

“You’re going to pay for this,” Ailla spat, storming toward him.  Her fear instantly turned into rage when Alexius came to view.  Dorian placed a hand on her shoulder cautiously, and she begrudgingly ceased her advancement.  “Look at this place, you son of a bitch.  Was it worth it?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”  Alexius sounded drained, defeated.  Tired.  “All we can do is wait for the end.  I… knew you would return, not that it would be now but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you.  None of it matters now.  The Elder one comes for me, for you… for everyone.”

Just then, Leliana yanked the ghostly man up to his feet from behind, holding a knife to his throat.  Alexius spun around, reaching for him.  “Felix…!”

“That’s.. that’s Felix?!” Dorian gasped, his hands balling into fists.  “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?!”

Alexius’ gaze flickered desperately from Leliana to Ailla, then back, his eyes pleading. Ailla could only see a shell of a man  whose soul had died out long ago.  “Please.. don’t hurt my son.  I’ll do anything you ask.”

Ailla shook her head, grinding her teeth.  This wasn’t right, none of this was.  Felix was a good man.  “Leliana… bring him peace.”

The blood gushed out of the slit in his throat as Leliana dragged the blade across his neck.  Felix gagged before falling to the floor with a thud.  “NO!” Alexius shouted, and powerful burst of magic exploded around them, knocking Leliana off of her feet.  

Ailla ran at him then, daggers prepped to kill but he immediately summoned a magical barrier that sent her flying backward, and she landed hard on the floor.  She sprang up to her feet only to see that the magister had summon a Fade rift right in the middle of the room, and demons came pouring out of it.  Maker, he had the ability to summon demons anywhere?  This future was just getting better and better.  Alexius couldn’t be touched, not with that barrier up.

Just as she moved to help her companions fend off the demon horde and close the rift, what had to be a monster crashed through the wall of the throne room, releasing a feral cry.  Ailla whipped around to face the creature as it stomped toward her and her eyes widened in horror.  It was no demon.  It was.. a man, or it used to be.  Red lyrium sprouted out of its back, creating a myriad of crystal peaks that overtook most of its body and face.  Its entire left arm was made up of so much red lyrium that the creature had to drag its massive hand across the floor as it walked.  Only a small portion of its body remained remotely human, not yet transformed by the foul mineral.  And its face…

The shock alone was nearly enough to knock Ailla right onto her arse.  The right half of his face was still composed of human flesh, and even from where she was standing, she could see the scar that was nicked into his upper lip, the golden brown of his eyes only slightly tinted with red.  The other half of his face was blackened, cracked like a dried desert landscape, red glowing through the fissures.

Ailla staggered back as he took an enormous step toward her.  “That’s..” she could hardly speak.

“Maker, what have you done to him?!” she heard Cassandra from behind her.  She sounded just as mortified as Ailla felt.

Alexius was gasping for breath now, using much of his energy just to maintain his barrier.  “He was fed… red lyrium…  The Elder One.. wanted to confirm the effects of daily consumption.. and he tested it on your Templar first…  He belongs to the Elder One now... mind, body, and soul...”

Ailla’s mind went numb at the sight of him.  Seeing him like this was worse than what she had originally feared.  His mind was no longer his own, and he had been turned into this.. walking manifestation of red lyrium.  Was he in pain?  Was he aware of what they were making him do?  No.. No, Cullen was dead.  He had probably been dead for a long while now.  The thought made her blood run cold., the icy feeling pumping straight through her heart.

He took one last step forward before swinging his hulking arm at her.  She remembered then that this was real, that this wasn’t a nightmare that she would wake up from as soon as she died.

“AILLA!” Dorian’s voice triggered her body to duck.  “You must close the rift!”

The Commander took another swing and she jumped back to avoid it.  Ailla let her body take over, her mind completely useless right now.  There were too many things happening at once.  Varric fired at Alexius’ barrier with a consistent hail of arrows that were slowly whittling away at the magic and Leliana was shooting down any demon that passed through the rift.  Dorian and Cassandra converged against the Commander, keeping him at bay.

Ailla shook her head vigorously.   _Damn it, snap out of it. That’s not him.  That is_ not _him._  A chill ran down her spine as he let out another cry, hearing a mixture of his anguished voice and a monstrous howl.  She silently moved away from them and into the shadows, not wanting to attract attention from any of the hostile forces.  As soon as she was hidden and a good distance away, she lifted her Marked hand, palm facing the rift, and she twined the two together.  She felt that familiar tug on her arm, as if the rift was trying to drag her in, and she fought against it.

She heard Dorian grunt in pain, followed by Cassandra, as they were both thrown against the wall by the Commander’s massive lyrium arm.  He slowly turned to her now and Ailla felt her heart stop.   _Shit… shit… shit!_

He stalked over to her, dragging his hand, which was more like the head of a hammer, slowly across the floor, leaving a trail of crumbling stone in its wake.  His mouth was twisted into a permanent scowl on the side of his face that was overcome by red lyrium.  Next to the side that still looked human, the sight terrified Ailla right down to her bones.  

 _Almost there… Maker, almost there!_  

Suddenly, the rift exploded shut, sending a massive current across the room on all sides.  But it was too late.  Ailla managed to unsheath both of her daggers and avoid the thrash of his colossal arm but the Commader caught her by the throat with his free hand.  His palm felt like jagged stone against her skin.  His hand was also coated with lyrium, morphing his fingers into, long, gnarled claws that wrapped around the entirety of her neck.  He pulled her off of her feet and slammed her against the wall.  

Leliana’s and Varric’s arrows bounced uselessly off of his lyrium coating.  Ailla couldn’t see past him but she could hear the magister struggling against Cassandra’s sword and Dorian’s staff.  They must have finally broken through his barrier.

Ailla could hardly breathe.  She dropped one of her daggers and brought her hand against his, trying to pry it off of her.  It was futile.  He pressed even harder against her throat.  “Cu.. llen..” she gasped, her eyes wide and filling with tears.  “Pl-please…”

His grip seemed to loosen at that, very slightly, and it allowed her more room to breathe.  He stepped closer to her, his deformed face only inches from hers now.  Ailla gripped the hilt of her remaining dagger, seeing her opportunity now that the distance between them had closed.  But she hesitated, unsure if she could follow through.  His gaze pierced into hers and it was Cullen looking at her, in the same way he always had.  His eyes… they were pleading with her.  

“Oh.. Cullen..” she rasped, her vision blurring as the tears continued to build.  “I.. am so sorry.. for everything.”

She shoved the blade of her dagger straight into his chest and she felt his blood splatter warm onto her hand.  She dropped onto the floor, then further onto her hands and knees, coughing violently, her throat burning with each exertion.  The ground beneath her rumbled as he too fell to his knees, hunching over her.  She let out a surprise cry as he grabbed her wrist, lifting her hand to the hilt of her dagger and wrapping her fingers around it.  Ailla’s wide eyes snapped up to meet his, her heart hammering painfully inside of her chest.  He gave her one slow nod and she could have sworn she saw the unafflicted side of his lips pull up into a smile.  “You..” his voice was gruff and distorted by the lyrium but she could still hear _him_ all the same.  “..are so.. beautiful..”

Cullen forced the dagger deeper into his chest, his hand still wrapped around hers.  Ailla couldn’t help the sob that rose from her chest as his blood trickled down her arm.  She was trembling.  Something inside of her severed as Cullen’s hand fell limply from hers.  She felt something end before it had even began.

Dorian skidded to a stop beside them.  “Ailla, we must go.  Now.”  He yanked the dagger from out of Cullen’s chest and scooped up the other from the floor before grabbing ahold of Ailla’s arm by the crook of her elbow.  He hoisted her up onto her feet and walked her across the room to meet with the others.  Cassandra turned her head to look in the other direction, clenching her jaw. Ailla glanced over her shoulder then, dazed, and saw what the Seeker had seen - Cullen’s body had fallen limply to the side, a pool of blood gathering around his corpse.

“You must go now,” Leliana ordered, glancing hastily at the both of them.  “Work out your spell, Tevinter, quickly.”

The entire room shook then with a violent quake, snapping AIlla out of her stupor.  Loose rocks and dust fell from the ceiling above as a thunderous roar reverberated just outside of the room.

“The Elder One,” Leliana whispered.

Varric stepped forward, loading his bow.  “You two get going.”  He exchanged a resolved glance with Cassandra.  “We’ll hold the outer door.  When they get past us, it will be your turn, Nightingale.”

Ailla clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white.  “No.  I won’t let you commit suicide.”  Not after what just happened, she couldn’t lose them too.

Leliana swept her arms out, gesturing to the three of them. She eyes flickered briefly to Cullen's body.  “Look at us.  We’re already dead.  The only way we’ll live is if this day never happened.”  She nocked an arrow onto her bow as Varric and Cassandra disappeared out of the throne room, closing the door behind them. “Cast your spell.  You have as much time as I have arrows.”

She was right.  AIlla hadn’t failed yet.  She and Dorian climbed the steps to the throne where they stood before being sent into the future.  Dorian poured his magic into the same amulet that Alexius used and it floated out of his hands, glowing brightly.  Tendrils of electricity danced around it and Ailla could feel the magic pulsing into the air.  The hair on the back of her neck stood.   “We must wait for it to stabilize,” Dorian explained, glancing anxiously at the door.

It burst open suddenly and a horde of demons flooded in.  Her companion’s bodies were cast aside like trash as the demons advanced forward.  Leliana picked them off one by one with her arrows, quietly reciting a prayer to herself.  Someone returned the favor, shooting an arrow into her shoulder.  Ailla moved to help her, seeing her impending demise, but Dorian grabbed a hold of her arm and pulled her back.  “If you move, we all die!” he shouted over the portal that had suddenly formed behind them, blasting out a gust of hot air.

“No!” Ailla screamed as a guard wrapped his arm around Leliana’s throat.

“Look at me,” Dorian insisted, gently taking her face into both of his hands and turning her head away from the scene.  “Don’t look at them - look at me.”

Ailla felt herself reach her breaking point.

_And they will all perish because you are weak._

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared into Dorian’s face.  They were going to die.  Maker, they were going to die.  The world was going to fall into chaos and it was all her fault.  Dorian must have seen all of the hope leave her eyes because he slowly shook his head, wiping a tear away from her cheek with his thumb.

A flash of light blinded her for just a moment and when it cleared, the throne room of Redcliffe castle was beautiful again, solid and intact without a single affliction to its interior.  Dorian stepped back from her and faced Alexius who stood there with a dumbfounded expression.  

“You’ll need to do better than that,” he said to the magister, derision clear in his voice.

They made it.  They were home.  Ailla took a deep breath through her nose, her hands still balled into fists.  Whatever hope that she felt was lost only moments ago came flooding back to her as she saw Cassandra and Varric, alive and well, standing only a little ways away from her.  They both looked stunned and confused.  But they were alive.  And so was Felix and Leliana.  And Cullen… Cullen was alive as well, waiting for them at Haven.

As long as they lived, she would have hope.

Ailla felt the tears stain onto her face but she ignored them as she turned to face Alexius, straightening her back now and standing tall in front of the magister.  “It’s over,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

Alexius fell to his knees, defeated.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really fun to write and let me tell you why: I always wondered why Cullen wasn't a part of In Hush Whispers. I get that he played a bigger part in Champions of the Just but if they managed to have Leliana in Redcliffe castle during the future sequence, then Cullen could have been there too! I really enjoyed writing him into this part of the game. I hope you guys enjoyed it too! As always, feedback is appreciated! 
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	8. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailla is having a difficult time dealing with what happened in the dark future of the Elder One. A more dangerous threat rises even after the Breach has been closed.
> 
> Cullen finds himself increasingly more concerned for the Herald's well-being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Just wanna say sorry for how jumpy this chapter is. I just didn't want to bog it down with too much in-game dialogue and I wanted to focus more on Ailla and Cullen's development with one another. As always, tell me what you think! I will always appreciate any feedback and especially your support. :) 
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!

“I can’t go in there.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I really can’t.”

“Why?  Because he called you beautiful?”

“Dorian, that’s not funny.  I.. Maker, I killed him.  How do you just.. walk up to a person you stabbed to death?”

“You do realize that never truly happened?  And it’s not as if he gave you much of a choice, did he?  Choking the life out of you and so on.”

“But it did.  It _did_ happen.”

“Only to us, not to him.  He doesn’t even need to know about what you did because, really, it never happened.”

Ailla was right outside of the Chantry with Dorian, pacing around and practically tearing her hair out.  She was feeling every adverse emotion under the sun.  Even after they had secured the mages’ aid, an intense anxiety still gripped at her chest, turning and twisting it every which way.  Sure, they managed to return to the present but that didn’t mean they’d entirely prevented that dark future from taking its course.  Somewhere in Thedas, the Elder One was plotting to assassinate the empress and then raise a demon army to conquer Orlais.  Thedas would fall.  

Among that anxiety, she couldn't shake the feeling of despair that was dragging at her heels.  It was a bloody storm cloud hovering precariously over her head.  She _saw_ them die.  It happened right in front of her eyes.  And Cullen… she killed him!  His blood was still caked onto her hand and coat arm..  She also couldn’t help but feel frustrated with herself because Dorian was right; she may have killed Cullen in the future but that was effectively erased from time ever since they returned to the present.  Everyone was alive and she could keep it that way as long as she maintained a level head on her shoulders.

The reality of time magic was messing her her mind and she had no choice but to accept how dangerous it was.  The thought left a giant pit in her stomach.  Whatever Ailla had felt the day she killed that mage returned with a vengeance, determined to destroy everything she thought she knew, everything she so firmly believed in.  This was why mages were imprisoned in the Circle.  This was why the Templar Order existed.  She couldn’t refuse this logic any longer, not when she had been thrust into a doomed future by an out-of-control magister.  But.. there had to be another way.  The Circle couldn’t be the only solution.

She sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the Chantry doors.  She knew that the moment she walked through those doors, the Commander would be there.  That should have been a good thing, seeing him alive, but she knew that all she would really see was the monster from the future, that twisted scowl, his lyrium-cracked face, the light leaving his eyes after she’d…

Dorian slapped a hand onto her shoulder, squeezing it with encouragement.  “I’ll join you in a moment.  Go on and get it over with.  Perhaps it won’t be as bad as you think.”

* * *

 

This was bad.  No, worse - this was utter madness.  Cullen thought Redcliffe was a horrible idea to begin with but now they were allowing the entirety of the mage rebellion to take quarters in Haven?  They didn’t have enough Templars to keep them all in check!  This could only end in disaster.  He felt an intense throbbing at the back of his head and it was slowly working its way down the length of his spine.  Once again, Cullen found himself toe to toe with Josephine.  “This is not a matter of debate,” he argued.  “There will be abominations among the mages and we _must_ be prepared.”

Josephine shook her head, folding her arms across her chest.  “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it will make the Inquisition seem incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst!”

Cullen wanted to further contend the ambassador but she was right.  As important as it was to keep their people safe, the Inquisition needed as much support as it could get, and that meant maintaining a respectable image.  It was all very aggravating and the pain in his head wasn’t helping.

He spotted the Herald walking up to them now to join their impromptu meeting.  Cullen’s frustrations flared when she came into view.  How could she make such a reckless decision?  Did she really want to spite the Order this badly?  No, that wasn’t fair of him to think that.  But even so, she couldn’t truly believe that this was a good idea.  “What were you thinking - turning the mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”   _Damn it_.  That came out angrier than he’d intended.

Cullen tried not to feel too taken aback by the injured look she gave him.   He noticed then how drained she was, the signs of exhaustion etched all over her face.  Another bout of guilt settled in and he felt a pang of annoyance at himself for it.  

The Herald ran a hand through her hair, resting it at the back of her head.  “We need them to close the Breach.  That’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”  

“I know we need them for the Breach,” Cullen sighed, speaking a little more gently this time but unable to completely mask his frustration, “but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves.”

At that, she glanced away from him, suddenly looking ambivalent.  What was going on with her?  Cullen felt his eyes narrow slightly as he saw the dried blood encrusted along the length of her right arm, mostly on her hand.  His gaze travelled up to her neck, which was encircled with red scrapes and blemishes.  Ever since he finished reading the reports, Cullen wanted to know exactly what took place in Redcliffe.  It was all so unbelievable.  Time magic, a demon army, the assassination for the empress. Perhaps the Herald could give him some insight and, at the same time, he could find out what happened to her - clearly, _something_ happened.  

“Enough arguing,” Cassandra demanded.  “None of us were there and we cannot afford to second-guess our people.  The sole point of the Herald’s mission was the gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, suppressing another sigh and instead exhaling calmy through his nose.  Cassandra was right.  Having the rebel mages on their side was more progress than they had made in weeks.  They would just need to take things one step at a time.

“Ah, the voice of pragmatism speaks.”  Cullen turned his head toward the voice and saw the Tevinter mage sauntering in, leaning against one of the stone pillars.  Dorian went on, “And here I was starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Out of the corner of Cullen’s eye, he saw the Herald suppress a smile.  Was this so amusing?  If so, he wasn’t seeing it.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” Cassandra reaffirmed.

At least that was one thing they could all agree on.

“It’s going to take some time to organize our troops and the mage recruits,” Cullen told them, ready to move on from their disagreements and get down to business.  “Let’s take this to the war room.”  He glanced at the Herald, who was still avoiding his gaze.  Had he truly upset her so much that she couldn’t even look at him?  He decided to try a bit of damage control.  “Join us.  None of this means anything without you, after all.”

The Herald finally looked up to meet his eyes but given the deep breath she took before doing so, it was clear that that was the last thing she wanted to do.  Cullen tried not to feel too bothered by it, still not understanding why he cared so much - only that he did.  She forced a small smile then.  “And I’d hoped to sit out the assault on the Breach.  Take a nap, go on a walk maybe.”  She made a good effort in trying to sound like her usual, facetious self but Cullen saw her smile waver.

He tried to encourage her with a half-smile of his own.  “What is it they say?  ‘No rest of the wicked.’”

Her expression seemed to soften at that, her shoulders relaxing but she still wasn’t looking at him..

“I’ll skip the war council but I’d like to see this Breach up close if you don’t mind,” Dorian said coolly.

The Herald glanced at the Tevinter, looking pleased.  “So… you’re staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mentioned?” He returned her inquiry with a smirk.  “The south is so charming and rustic.  I adore it to little pieces”

“I must admit, I’m surprised,” she told him.

Dorian’s face sobered. “We both saw what could happen, what this Elder One and his cult intend to do.  Not everything from Tevinter is terrible.  Some of us have fought for eons against this sort madness.  It is my duty to stand with you.  That future will not come to pass.”  His eyes flickered briefly to Cullen, then back to the Herald.  “Not a single part of it.”

Cullen saw the Herald grip at her blood coated hand.  She gave the mage a smile, warm and genuine, and it made Cullen’s stomach turn.  He suddenly felt himself wanting to be in Dorian’s position, and felt jolted at the thought.   _This is getting ridiculous_.  Was he _jealous_?  That was completely absurd.  What was there to be jealous about?  She was the Herald.  That was it.  They were more or less in good standing, and that should be all that mattered.  He was there to advise; she was there to close the Breach.  End of story.

Cullen cleared his throat, composing himself.  “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit.  Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

* * *

 

Ailla did it.  It was the most terrifying, exhilarating thing she had ever done in her life.  The Breach was closed.  The ominous, gaping hole in the sky was nothing more than just a small parting in the clouds now, glowing only a subtle green that wasn’t so sickly anymore.  She watched as the villagers danced together around fire pits, consuming copious amount of alcohol.  Laughing, singing.  Thanking the Maker.  Their Maker - for sending Ailla to them in their time of need.

They could believe what they want.  This was a time to rejoice.  Something told her that her lack of faith in the Maker was no longer a problem, not to her companions or advisors, anyway.  But if it gave the people peace of mind, then she would continue to let them think that she was the Herald of Andraste.  

Ailla turned to look behind her as she heard footsteps approaching in the snow.  The Commander walked up to stand beside her, his hands casually resting on the hilt of his sword, as always.  She quickly glanced away from him and kicked herself immediately for it.  After the war meeting had concluded, she resorted to avoiding him for the rest of the day, apparently unable to cope with what happened - or didn’t happen, she hadn’t decided yet - and she was fairly certain he took notice.  Ailla figured that closing the Breach would make her feel better about what she saw and did in that dark future but it didn’t erase it from her memory.

She turned her right hand over thoughtfully, grateful that she had found the time to wash off the blood.

“Solas confirms that the heavens are scarred but calm,” the Commander explained, sounding more than pleased himself.  “The Breach is sealed.”

Ailla felt the corner of her lips tug up into a small smile.  Her voice was quiet when she answered him, “That, it is.”

“We have reports of lingering rifts,” he went on, his gaze sweeping over the jovial villagers, “and many questions still remain but this was a victory.”  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head  to look her.  “Word of your heroism has spread.”

Her stomach curled at that.  It was still just a coincidence, her being at the conclave and receiving this mark.  It could have been anyone.  Happenstance didn’t make her a hero.  Ailla shook her head, chuckling ruefully, “You know how many were involved.  Luck put me at the center.”

They were silent for a few moments then, content with just being spectators of the celebration before them as opposed to being a part of it.  Ailla tried not to feel too uncomfortable with the silence but she couldn’t help it.  She was actively trying to avoid looking at his face and she had the feeling that he was aware of it, making the tension that much more difficult to handle.  Too many things were running through her mind at once and it only made her want to flee his presence all the more.  

His blood warm on her skin, the scowl on his face, the plea in his eyes.

Watching him instead of the sunrise, the way he looked at her, his smile, the warmth on her shoulders when he touched her.

_You.. are so.. beautiful._

Ailla felt her cheeks redden.  He thought she was beautiful?  

“Does this.. mean you’ll be leaving?”

Her eyes widened and she couldn’t help but look up at him, despite all of her reservations about doing so ever since she came back from Redcliffe.  Whatever fears she had about seeing the monster from the future in his eyes was gone now, pushed out by the reality of his question.  The fact that he had to ask hurt and she didn’t understand why.  It was an honest, reasonable question.  When she joined the Inquisition, she made it clear to herself that she would stay just until the Breach was sealed.  She told the Commander that she would see that through, no matter what, but they never discussed what would happen after.  

But ever since returning to the present, she couldn’t stop thinking about how they would prevent the Elder One’s future from coming to pass, among other things.  She wouldn’t be worrying countering the Elder One if she still intended to leave.  But Cullen didn’t know that.  For all he knew, Ailla would be gone in the morning without so much as a goodbye.  

But it hurt all the same.  “Do you want me to leave?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Cullen blinked at her in surprise, shaking his head, suddenly looking nervous.  “Maker, no.  I.. I was actually hoping that you wouldn’t.. leave, that is.”  He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away at her.  Each word he spoke seemed like a struggle.

“Oh.”  She looked away from him. He actually wanted her to stay, for whatever reason. She felt relieved but at the same time vexed.  Even if the Commander did think she was going to leave.. so what?  Why had his question hurt her feelings?  It was.. ridiculous.  Her departure was completely feasible.  Once they shut down the remaining rifts, her work here would be done; the Inquisition wouldn’t _need_ her anymore, not really.  Whatever this Elder One was planning, she was sure they could figure it out without her.  After all, the only reason she was important was due to the mark on her hand, and it had done its job.

Perhaps Ailla had hoped the Commander thought better of her than she did herself because for some odd reason or another, she cared about what this man thought of her.

“I..” she whispered, not knowing what to say.  If they didn’t need her anymore, why stay?  When this all began, her plan was to seal the Breach, get out and leave all of this behind her.  But it was different now.  Coincidence or not, she had the power to help, to be strong, which was more than what she could have said about herself years ago when the Templars took away…  

Ailla swallowed, her hand moving to the scar on her neck.  “I don’t want to leave.  I want to stay and help.”

Bells tolled.  Panic.  Loud rumbling from the mountains.. like marching.

She and the Commander exchanged urgent glances.  Without saying another word to each other, they took off toward the gates, meeting up with Cassandra and the rest of them.  Once there, Ailla’s gaze followed where everyone else’s seemed to be - on the mountain tops.  She clenched her teeth, her chest gripping at her heart.  The throng of troops looked like a mass of black smog crawling down the mountain side and it was only a matter of time until it had them overrun.

* * *

 

A dragon.  It had to be a fucking dragon.  They had made quick work out of the red templars that made it down the mountain first, as Ailla knew where they were most vulnerable, where to hit them the hardest.  Their chests seemed to be the common place where their coats of red lyrium didn’t protect.

But even with most of their forces slowed by the avalanche they had created, the Elder One and his pet dragon struck back harder, taking out the majority of the trebuchets.  They all had to retreat to the Chantry if they had any hopes of not being roasted by red lyrium dragon fire.  What had Cullen said?   _At this point, just make them work for it_.  That sent a chill down her spine.  Ailla stepped into the Chantry after Cole and the injured Chancellor Roderick.  Cole, a rather strange boy in a large funny hat, had come to warn them but he had been a little too late.

The Commander approached her as soon as she entered.  “Our position is not good, Herald,” he told her.  “That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.  It’s cut a path for that army.  They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

Ailla could feel her heart hammering inside of her chest.  Even with the Breach sealed, they were all still in danger.  Everyone here.. they were going to die if they couldn’t think of something.

Cole had sat Chancellor Roderick down in a chair.  The boy looked up at them then, “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village.  He only wants the Herald.”

Fear pierced through her.  It wasn’t over.  It was never over.  Even if she wanted to leave, this Elder one would have come after her.  Maybe if she did leave, Haven would be safe.. “If you know why the Elder One wants me, just say it,” she hissed through her teeth, not having the patience to deal with Cole’s vague manner of speaking.

“I don’t.  He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him.”

“For Maker’s sake,” she breathed, running both of her hands through her hair, pacing.

But then Cole went on, “He wants to kill you.  No one else matters but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway.  I dont like him.”

Ailla felt ice in her veins.

Cullen stared at the boy incredulous before dismissing him.  “You don’t like…?  Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable.  The only thing that slowed them down was the avalanche.  We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’re.. but we’re overrun.”  Her eyes darted around, as if searching anywhere to find a different solution.  “To hit the enemy… we’d bury Haven.”

The Commander locked eyes with her, his gaze a mix of futility and acceptance.  “We’re dying but we can decide how.  Many don’t get that choice.”

She felt her throat tighten.

“Yes.. that.”

They both turned to Cole and Roderick.  The strange boy was looking up at the Chancellor, nodding as if they were having a conversation of their own.  “Chancellor Roderick can help.  He wants to say it before he dies.”

Who - _what_ \- the hell was this guy?  It didn’t matter now, it seemed. He was helping after all.

Chancellor Roderick coughed out his words, his voice barely audible and husky.  “There is path.  You wouldn’t know it unless you made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.  The people can escape.  She must have shown me... Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you.”

Ailla felt a flare of hope but it was as if the room was getting smaller, closing in around her as she began to realize what it would take for this plan to work.  She turned to the Commander, “How about it, Cullen?  Will it work?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding.  “Possibly, if he shows us the path.”  He lifted his gaze to hers, eyebrows rising slightly as if the same thing dawned on him.  The Commander spoke softly now, “But what of your escape?”  She heard his voice waver.

Ailla slowly turned away from him, unable to meet his eyes anymore..

_ Are you willing to die for them? _


	9. The Dawn Will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailla barely survived the avalanche and her encounter with the Elder One but her near-death experience may have given her some insight on one Commander Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Generic chapter title is generic. UGHHH, guys, I have to say I'm sorry for how CHOPPY this chapter is. There was a lot of jumping around again from scene to scene so I'm sorry if it feels rushed. But as always, your feedback is very much appreciated! Thank you for reading!!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Yes.  Ailla was willing to die for them.  Especially after the truth behind her mark was revealed, there was not a single doubt in her mind that she would give her life to the Inquisition.  The Elder One - Corypheus - had to be stopped.  Maybe he was right.  Maybe Ailla’s heresy wasn’t heresy at all, and there really wasn’t a Maker.  But that didn’t mean he could just ascend himself into godhood and conquer all of Thedas.  Ailla wouldn’t allow it as long she had the power to stop him.

That is, if she survived for the next half an hour.

 _Cold.  So.. cold_.  A blizzard had swept in and Ailla was caught right in the middle of it.  She wasn’t sure how her legs were still moving but, among other miracles, they managed.  Somehow, she had escaped both Corypheus and the avalanche with only a couple of broken ribs and bruises all over her body.  It was almost a good thing that it was so cold - she didn’t really feel any pain.  Everything was just numb.

Ailla couldn’t hear anything but the howlings winds that stung at her eyes even though she held her hand up to shield them.  It was no use.  She could feel her body becoming weaker and weaker with each step.  She was on an aimless trek, holding on to the thin hope that _maybe_ she would find the camp that her comrades had _probably_ made, all before her heart stopped.  

She cursed her misfortune, not because she was about to die but because the last voice she would have heard before it happened was that of Corypheus.  The voice that had somehow made it into her nightmares as she slept.  At least he was wrong.  She hadn’t entirely failed.  This Anchor on her hand seemed to be a permanent addition to her person and now the Elder One had to find a different way to become a god, or so he says.  Hopefully she had delayed him for another millennia or two.

Corypheus had been right as well however.  She was going to die.  Ailla wasn’t sure if she was okay with that.  Shouldn’t she be?  Most of everyone made it out safe, right…?  In the grand scheme of things, if her dying resulted in the safety of everyone else’s, then that wasn’t a bad way to go.  Maybe… maybe she could just…

_And they will all perish because you are weak._

No.  They needed her.  Even with all of her doubts, she realized that the Inquisition needed her now more than ever.  This Anchor was hers and whatever power it held could be enough to stop Corypheus.  If she died now, she wouldn’t be able to stop the red lyrium from growing out of Cassandra and Varric, or keep Leliana from becoming tortured and scarred, or Cullen… She couldn’t let Cullen become that thing.  It would be a fate worse than death - a warped mind, body and soul that would belong to the Elder One, and she wouldn’t allow that to happen to him.

AIlla pushed herself further.  The winds blew harder.   _Please… not yet._

But she fell to her knees, her legs mostly buried in the snow.   _Damn it.  Damn it_!  Her vision was starting to blacken but in the distance, she thought she saw a warm glow, maybe from a campfire.  Or maybe it was the light of dying.  People believed there was.. some kind of.. light before it happened..  Ailla pushed Corypheus out of her mind, searching desperately for something more comforting.  

Ailla’s thoughts found Cullen again and she didn’t bother questioning why he was the one who came to mind.  For some reason, it was always him overtaking her thoughts, whether it was his smile or the fact that it made her nervous whenever he didn’t seem to trust her or her decisions.  Thinking on it now, he was on her mind.. constantly.  It was infuriating.. and pleasant.  Infuriatingly pleasant.  In times of turmoil, he pushed himself into the forefront of her mind and it comforted her.  It had her thinking that maybe everything wasn’t so shitty, that she was surrounded by good people who actually believed in her.  That was more than she could say about her life before the Inquisition.

But then she had killed him and the comfort she felt vanished, emptying the voids that they previously filled and replacing them with that monstrous image of him.  Ailla had never felt so alone in her entire life, with her dagger inside of his chest and his blood oozing out onto her skin.

There was no point in denying it - she would be dead in moments anyway, her vision blurring into complete darkness now.  She liked the Commander, a lot.  She wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, only that it was true.  The fact that he had been a Templar meant very little to her at this point, and she wished she could tell him that.  And now she would never seem him again…

“There!  It’s her!”

Great, now she was hearing things. At least her mind was kind enough to conjure up his voice before she went.  It sounded so real too...

“Thank the Maker!”  Cassandra…?

Then she felt something thrown over her shoulders, like a blanket, and a pair of strong arms lifted her effortlessly out of the snow.

* * *

 

Cullen quickly stripped off his coat and wrapped it around the Herald, bundling her tightly in the fabrics.  He lifted her up into his arms, one arm tucked under the back of her knees, the other supporting her shoulders.  His heart was pounding outrageously hard inside of his chest, the sight of her having set off his rapid pulse.  He couldn’t believe it.  She was alive.  All the energy he had spent trying to accept her death and she was alive, in his arms.  Barely.  Her nose was red and her lips were blue and hints of frost coated her eyelashes.

“Oh, Maker,” he breathed, hugging her tight to his chest as he and Cassandra hurried back to the camp.  It was like holding a sculpture of ice against himself.  He whispered into her hair, “Don’t you die, Herald..”

A hush washed over the entire camp when they arrived, all eyes on the unconscious Herald in his arms.  He brought her inside one of the tents, and Solas and Dorian followed in quickly behind him.  Cullen laid her down gently onto the bedspread, arranging the fur of his coat beneath her head in substitute of a pillow.  

“Please, give us room, Commander.” Dorian pushed past him, and Solas moved in on the opposite side of her.  The elf’s hands began to glow a hot red and Cullen could feel the heat pulsing through the air even from where he was standing.  Solas placed one hand on her chest, the other on her forehead.  

“Three ribs broken,” Dorian muttered, bringing his hands to her side and like Solas’, they too glowed but a bright green instead of red.  

Cullen noticed the Herald’s face twitch in pain and realized that the Tevinter was mending her bones, arranging them to the proper position before re-attaching them.  He felt a staggering relief wash over him as the color began to return to her skin, chasing away the pale blue that had settled in from the cold.  He also couldn’t help but feel furious with himself, standing by, unable to do anything for her.  His stomach turned at the thought of her never waking, even with the mages’ help.  A splitting pain shot into the back of his eyes and he had to steady himself against one of the wooden beams that supported the tent.

Almost at the same time, Dorian and Solas sighed, their shoulders relaxing.  “She will be alright,” Solas confirmed, straightening up and leaving without another word.

“You should stay with her, Commander,” Dorian suggested, stepping toward him and placing a hand on his shoulder.  “At least for a little while.  I doubt she would want to be alone right now and from the looks of it, we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He followed Solas out, leaving Cullen and the Herald alone.  He stood there for a moment and just stared at her face, his heart finally calming down to a reasonable pulse.   _I… almost lost you._  Maker, what a foolish thought.  He felt like he had nearly lost her, as if she was his to lose.  That certainly wasn’t the case but.. he cared for this woman and not just because she was the Herald of Andraste.  It was.. something else.  Something that made him gravitate toward her, that made him not want to leave this tent until she awoke.

Cullen didn’t understand it and he wasn’t sure he ever would.  Even so, he silently thanked the Maker that she was alive.

* * *

 

Ailla left the tent, unsure if she could stand another minute with that pious woman.  She didn’t want to be rude - Mother Giselle only wanted to help ease the situation with her words but it only made Ailla feel worse, irritated even.  How could someone still hold so much faith after what just happened?  Not everyone made it out of Haven.  They either perished in dragon’s flame or they were gutted by a Red Templar.  Mother Giselle also had a knack for rationalizing everything around her faith.  She even suggested that Corypheus was simply lying to himself about finding the “Golden City” empty, rather than accepting the possibility that he had received the Maker’s scorn.  Did she even realize how crazy that sounded?

Not that Ailla should believe every word out of the Elder One’s mouth but at least he spoke from an alleged experience instead of making assumptions about a god that may or may not exist.  Whether or not he was telling the truth, it was going to take more than faith to put a stop to him.  Ailla’s survival was not a miracle - like everything else, it was luck, and she was going to continue using that luck to her advantage.

Outside of the tent, the air was thick with grief.  They were stranded, and most of everyone here had just lost their homes.  Ailla glanced at her advisors who had just finished one of their more heated arguments.  As usual, they had gotten no where.  Each of them looked utterly crestfallen.  She saw Cullen pacing and even with all of his confidence, he too looked lost.  What were they going to do..?

“Shadows fall and hope has fled.”

Ailla blinked, glancing over her shoulder as she heard Mother Giselle begin to sing.

“Steel your heart.  The dawn will come.”  She had her hands folded in front of her, head bowed.  

Ailla knew that song from her childhood.  Her mother sang it to her every night so she could fall asleep with peaceful dreams.  That was before she discovered her daughter was a filthy heretic.

Mother Giselle stood beside her then, her gaze sweeping over the camp. “The night is long and the path is dark.  Look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come.”

Leliana joined the Revered Mother in her song, and soon enough, nearly all of the villagers were singing the hymn of the faithful.  Even the Commander took part in this unifying moment and Ailla felt something sharp pierce through her chest.  She thought her loneliest moment was in that dark future after killing Cullen but she was wrong.  It was now, with the villagers surrounding her, kneeling before her to profess their faith to a god she didn’t believe in.  Ailla swallowed hard as the Commander locked eyes with her, and she quickly averting her gaze to the side.  If there was ever a time she truly wanted to flee, it was in that moment.  

But she couldn’t just walk away from this.  These people needed to hold on to their faith, or risk losing hope.  Ailla didn’t know what kind of damage it would do to that hope if they discovered that their Herald of Andraste wasn’t a faithful servant of their Maker.  They needed to know that all of this destruction wasn’t for nothing, that there was a reason behind this madness - a grand plan.  

The choir had passed, thankfully, but Mother Giselle was insistent on trying to send a message.  “An army needs more than an enemy.  It needs a cause.”  With that, she walked away.  

A cause it is, then.  Stop Corypheus at all costs, and to do that, they needed to stand together.  If that meant maintaining a facade - a lie - for the sake of hope and morale, then she would do it, no matter how lonely it felt.  

She heard someone approaching her and she turned to see Solas.  “A word?” he requested before briskly walking past her.  

_Gladly, anything to get away from here._

* * *

 

“Solas, I could kiss you.”

The elf raised an eyebrow at her.

“I mean, I won’t really.. do that.. It’s just.. a figure of speech,” she muttered, giving him a sheepish laugh before clearing her throat.  Her gaze swept across the mountains again, landing on the fortress that Solas called Skyhold.  It was perfect.  The place looked absolutely impregnable, just what they needed to build and grow as the Inquisition.  There was still hope.

They spent the next fews days moving in what supplies they had salvaged from Haven, getting the soldiers and villagers settled in, and beginning repairs.  Word of Skyhold spread like wildfire and soon enough, they had a large number pilgrims arriving from different settlements in the region.  Something told Ailla that there would only be more to come and that meant bolstering the Inquisition’s numbers and influence.

Corypheus may have taken away Haven but he couldn’t have predicted that they would rise from the ashes so quickly.

* * *

 

They had all come to the same conclusion, much to Cullen’s surprise.  The Inquisition needed a true leader.  The people of the newly discovered Skyhold gathered in the courtyard and among them were Cullen and Josephine.  Every pair of eyes was locked onto the Herald.  She stood above them atop a platform in the middle of a high staircase leading to the grandhall, Cassandra and Leliana at her side.  He couldn’t hear what they were saying but he could see the shock on the Herald’s face as she looked out onto the crowd.

 _You can do this._  

For just a moment, their gazes met and Cullen gave her an encouraging nod .  This woman… If there was anyone who could lead the Inquisition, it was her.  She took up the burden of being the Herald of Andraste, created impossible alliances, closed the Breach, faced the Elder One alone and conquered death time and time again.  She was nothing short of amazing and Cullen admired her immensely.

He couldn’t help the smile on his face when she nodded back to him, turning to Leliana and taking the sword from her hands.

Cassandra stepped forward, chin held high.  “Have our people been told?” she called.

Josephine answered, “They have.  And soon, the world.”

“Commander, will they follow?”

Cullen turned to the crowd then, shouting in a rallying cry that matched that of the Seeker’s.  “Inquisition!  Will you follow?!  Will you fight?!  Will we triumph?!”  They cheered louder with each query, as loud as their lungs would allow them, raising their fists into the air.  “Your leader, your Herald…!”  Cullen’s heart was pounding as he unsheathed his sword, pointing now to the woman who would bring them out of the darkness, to victory, “Your Inquisitor!”

The crowd exploded with a deafening roar as the _Inquisitor_ raised her blade high toward the heavens, swearing herself leader to this cause.  Cullen felt his chest swell at the sight.  She was breathtaking.   _Divine_.  He saw mostly strength in her eyes and only a sliver of fear.  He hadn’t had doubts about her in a very long time but if any still lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, they were driven away by the vigor she displayed now.  Seeing her like this made him believe that she had the courage within herself all along and she simply needed a reason to unleash it.  It made him want to take her into his arms and-

 _Maker_!  Cullen felt his face turn red, feeling horrified at himself.   _Andraste preserve me, what am I thinking_?

He spent the rest of the afternoon working tirelessly, going through mountains of paperwork and making sure every guard was assigned to an appropriate duty.  None of it was enough to escape the thoughts of the Inquisitor - they never were.  

* * *

 

It was all so overwhelming and invigorating at the same time.  A leader?  The Inquisitor?  Ailla hardly knew what to do with herself.  She decided to explore Skyhold, familiarize herself with the territory before going back into the field.  There was a lot of preparation to be done if they had any hopes of stopping the empress’ assassination or the rise of this demon army.  But there wasn’t much Ailla could do without more information, which was what Leliana and Josephine were working to retrieve.  She also had to wait for Varric’s mysterious contact to arrive.

Ailla found herself in the courtyard once again where the Commander was working diligently with his scouts.  Her heart performed another stupid flip, just at the sight of him, and she ran a hand through her hair.  This was crazy.  Just fucking insane.  How had she gone from strongly disliking this man to.. having these strange feelings for him?  It even took nearly dying for her to finally accept it.  Ever since the morning of their spar, even throughout the dark future ordeal, she denied these feelings.  She wasn’t going to have any of that.  It was so _unlike_ her.  

Bedding a man?  Sure.  A simple pleasure that could be soon forgotten by both parties, an escape for Ailla most of the time.  But actually feeling something toward someone?  That was much too complicated.  If she and the Commander ever found themselves in bed with each other, then-

 _Whoa!  Whoa.  Seriously?_    Ailla laughed out her disbelief, running a hand down the bottom half of her face.  She shook her head to clear her thoughts, walking over to him to see what progress he was making.   _Yeah.. sure.  That’s the reason._

The Commander glanced up at her upon her approach, looking overworked as usual.  “We set up as best we could at Haven,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck.  What was that, anyway?  Some kind of nervous twitch?  “But we could have never prepared for an archdemon, or whatever that was.”  He sighed, planting his hands against the edge of the wooden table, dozens of reports scattered across its surface.   His tone sounded earnest, “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw this time.  I wouldn’t want to.. Work on Skyhold is underway. We will _not_ run from here, Inquisitor.”

 _Inquisitor_.  It sounded so.. definitive.  “Inquisitor Trevelyan,” she said aloud, as if that might help her shake off how bizarre this all felt.  It didn’t.  “I wasn’t looking for another title.  It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.”

“Is that the official response?”

He laughed then.  Another flip inside of her chest.  Ailla suppressed the need to curse aloud.  “I suppose it is,” he answered as he straightened up and turned to face her, “but it’s true.  We needed a leader and you have proven yourself.”

“Thank you, Cullen.”  He smiled at that, and she realized that she never much referred to him as “Cullen.”  Did he.. like it when she called him by his name?   _Oh, for Maker’s sake, why does it matter if he likes it_?!  With her mind completely flustered, Ailla went on without much of a thought, “Our escape from Haven - it was close.  I’m relieved that you..” _Ugh_! “..that so many made it out.”

_Okay.  I’m going to go jump off the ramparts now._

“As am I.”  His face sobered and he glanced away from her, as if he didn’t have anymore to say on the matter.  Ailla would have taken this opportunity to leave but he spoke again, his voice soft, almost wistful, “You stayed behind.  You could’ve…” He pursed his lips, as if he’d changed his mind on revealing his thoughts.  He instead squared his shoulders, leveling his gaze with hers.  “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again.  You have my word.”

Ailla stared at him, and for just that moment, she felt just as confident as he did, like everything would actually be alright.  With his support, she didn’t feel nearly as lonely.  “Thank you,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.  Why..?  Why did he have this kind of effect on her?  Desperate for escape, Ailla nodded to him and then turned to leave, despite it feeling rude.

“I am sorry I ever doubted you, Inquisitor.”

She stopped, her back turned to him now.  That meant more to her than he would ever know.  Not wanting to show him how flustered she really felt, Ailla glanced over her shoulder and gave him a small smirk.  “Don’t apologize for that, Commander.  You’ll embarrass yourself in front of your men.”

He chuckled, smiling back at her.  Another flip inside of her chest

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini-questionnaire! I aim to improve. :)
> 
> 1\. How is the pace? Too slow? Too fast?  
> 2\. Does the development between Cullen and Ailla feel realistic?  
> 3\. Do you care about Ailla's past? Am I writing her in a way that makes you want to know more about her?  
> 4\. Do you think I am staying true to the canon characters? If not, where am I wavering?
> 
> THANKS GUYS! I appreciate your feedback and any critique.
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	10. Freedom of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailla finally tells Cullen the root of her hate for Templars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Trigger in this chapter. No details, all implied.
> 
> ANYWAYS, sorry for the wait on this one - life was getting a little busy! Also, this chapter REALLY focuses on Ailla's past. I took the advice of user Fireandbubbles and revealed what caused her hate for Templars before progressing their relationship. So, with that being said, if you care about Ailla and how I've been writing her, you'll really enjoy this chapter. If you are here for quizzie n' Cullen cuddles, this chapter isn't going to be very satisfying to you, maybe not until the very end. In any case, THANK YOU FOR READING! As always, feedback and critique is appreciated.
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!

The nightmare was different tonight.  Ailla wasn’t at the Temple of Sacred Ashes nor was she kneeling in a pool of the blood of her comrades.  Instead, she was in the slums of Ostwick, watching her best friend being dragged away by Templars.  It was a very typical nightmare, one where her body felt much too heavy to run fast, try as she might.

“Marly!” Ailla shouted, reaching out for the young girl with the short black hair and the terrified look in her eyes.

One of the Templars held tight to Marly’s upper arm as he pulled her effortlessly along, no matter how hard she tried to yank away.  She held her hand out for Ailla to grab, her arm stretching out to its limit.

Time slowed everything except Marly and the Templars, the distance between them and Ailla growing rapidly.  This was her fault.  If it hadn't been for her, they would have never found out that she was a mage.  No..  This was all their doing.  Why did they have to take her away?  It wasn't right! Marly didn't do anything wrong!

"Let her go!" Ailla felt like she was screaming at the top of her lungs but the demand came out barely above a whisper.  

The Templar who didn't have his hands on Marly turned around then and drew his sword, taking deliberate steps toward Ailla.  She froze, forcing down the frightened cry that threatened to burst out of her mouth.  She knew what he was going to do; it happened before and she didn't know if she could handle it again during the horrifying distortions of a nightmare.  

Ailla's chest clamped around her heart as he drew near enough for her to see his face.

"Cullen?"

She forced herself awake, gasping for air, the sheets beneath her soaked in her sweat.  Ailla sat up and tossed the covers off of her before resting her forehead in her hands.  She hadn’t been getting much sleep lately and when she did, she was forced to live through the nightmares of her past and her fears of the present.  She couldn’t understand it.  It wasn’t until that day at the conclave did she start experiencing these nightmares.  If the Maker did exist, he seemed to enjoy playing with her and seeing how much she could endure.

Ailla glanced over at the window.  The sun hadn’t risen yet but she didn’t want to go back to sleep, as usual.  She climbed out of bed and slipped into her tunic and leggings.  Today - or at least when the sun finally rose - was supposed to be her “day off.”  Cassandra said she was working too hard and all of her advisors seemed to agree.  They had spent that last two weeks on the Storm Coast investigating the whereabouts of the Grey Wardens and in the Fallow Mire to find their missing soldiers who had been captured by an Avaar tribe.  The Seeker must have noticed Ailla’s lack of slumber throughout that time.

She left her quarters and crossed the grand hall to enter the room Solas spent most of his time in, making her way to the battlements toward Cullen’s office.  She didn’t know if he was awake or why she was giving in to the impulse to speak with him in the middle of the night but she wasn’t about to turn back either.  There was something on her chest that she needed to get off and if she didn’t do it soon, she feared she would never get rid of Cullen’s face in her nightmares.

The door to his office creaked open as Ailla slowly stepped inside.  The only light she could see was the faint glow of the moon through the broken planks of wood that were supposed to make up the ceiling.  She didn't hear the heavy breath of slumber or rustling sound of wakefulness.   "Cullen?" she whispered a call to him.  When he didn't answer, she shook her head, starting to feel stupid.  "This.. was a horrible idea.." she muttered under her breath.

"What is a horrible idea?"

Ailla yelped.  Cullen jumped at the sound.  She whipped around to see him standing behind her, hands raised as if surrendering before the conflict could begin.  “Forgive me.  Accident,” he said, a small, nervous smile on his face.

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore her stomach as it fluttered at the sight of his smile.  She scratched the back of her head, realizing how awkward the situation really was.  He had found her in his office looking for him in the middle of the night, apparently with a horrible idea in mind.  Ailla was grateful it was dark, otherwise he might have seen her cheeks reddening.  “What are you doing out so late anyway?”

Cullen cleared his throat, giving a small shrug as he slipped past her into his office.  He seemed very careful not to bump her.  “I couldn’t sleep.  I wanted to get some air before going through these reports.”  He lit the torches on the wall and the flames chased away the darkness.  He picked up a report off of his desk, scanning through it.  Without looking up, he asked, “And you?”

Nothing but the truth was going to make her feel less awkward so she let the words tumble out of her mouth, “I was actually wanting to talk to you.”

That’s when he glanced up, his eyebrows raising in curiosity.  “Is everything alright?” he asked.  

“Well,” she muttered, glancing away and rubbing at her upper arm.  “No.. I mean, yes, everything is fine.. in a general sense.. We’ve made, um, a lot of progress since we’ve arrived at Skyhold, of course.. It’s just.. with me, there are some.. things that aren’t quite sound, I suppose.”  Maker’s breath, she was a mess.

“Inquisitor, is this a.. personal issue?” he asked, looking both surprised and concerned.  He was doing it again.  Being worried for her.  Damn him.

And it was indeed a personal issue, which was the reason she was having such a difficult time getting words out.  Discussing her own troubles wasn’t her strong point.  In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had truly opened up to someone about anything.  But she didnt have a choice this time.  She wasn’t sure if she could bear another night seeing Cullen in her dreams, in place of that Templar… “Yes,” she said quietly, forcing herself to look him in the eyes.   _Just.. get on with it_.  “I thought I was going to die in that blizzard..”

Cullen’s eyebrows knitted together as he set down the report, folding his arms across his chest, giving her his full attention.  He didn’t say anything and instead waited for her to continue.

Ailla took a deep breath and started pacing before she could stop herself.  “I thought I was going to die,” she repeated, “and I tried to think about something else, something other than dying, you know?  I ended up… thinking about you, wishing that I would have told you that..” she scratched her head in frustration.  How can she say anything without revealing these stupid feelings she had?  She tried again, “I decided then that I didn’t care that you used to be a Templar.”

She glanced up at him, kicking herself for how confused he looked.  She wasn’t making any sense at all.  “Okay, I’m going to start over,” she said, stopping her pace and turning to face him.  Ailla chose her words concisely this time, “When I was close to death, the one regret I had was being unable to tell you that your Templar past didn’t matter to me anymore. It’s mad, isn’t it?  Of all the things that have happened in my life, _that’s_ what I think about before dying.  I.. just wanted you to know that, in case the next time isn’t a near-death experience and rather just a… death experience.”

Cullen looked utterly perplexed, and Ailla felt extremely warm all over from the embarrassment. _This was so stupid.  So stupid!_

 

* * *

 

Cullen didn’t know how to respond.  As much as he wanted to be concerned - which he was - he felt utterly taken aback.  This woman had a knack for completely knocking him off of his guard and he never knew what to do with himself after.  It was Cullen that was on her mind moments before death?  Why was it so important that she tell him about this change of heart?  For his approval?  He assumed that they had already set aside their differences for the sake of the Inquisition.  Did she still believe that he doubted her, even after her near-sacrifice?  

“I…” he began, still uncertain on how to respond correctly to what she said.  Was there a correct way?  Responding at all would be a good start.  “You.. you do know that I’m no longer skeptical of you or your allegiance?”

The Inquisitor blinked, as if she hadn’t even considered that.  “Oh, I.. I know.  That’s not really why I wanted you to know that..”  She glanced away, looking frustrated.  Whether that frustrations was aimed at herself or at him, he wasn’t sure.

Cullen felt an intense ache at the back of his neck and he rubbed at it, trying to massage the feeling out of his muscles.  “Forgive me, Inquisitor.  I welcome the thought, truly but I-”

“I’ve been having nightmares,” she interrupted.  Her shoulders slumped and she sighed, as if finally relenting to the idea of revealing whatever troublesome weight she was carrying on her back.  “They’ve been.. such a damn torment.  You’ve been in them, in the worst possible ways.”  Her chest rose as she filled her lungs with a deep, bracing breath.  “I’m going to tell you what happened, what made me hate Templars so much.  I think then, you’ll stop haunting my nightmares.”

Cullen felt his chest swell with an unmistakable affinity.  He was all too familiar with the haunting of nightmares.  They were the reason he hadn’t slept that night.  The withdrawal was merciless, creating the most vivid horrors his mind could imagine.  His eyes never left the Inquisitor, who had her arms wrapped around herself in a lonely embrace.  Cullen would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit curious about why she hated Templars.  But now that he was about to find out, he wasn’t sure if he still wanted to know.

He wasn’t going to deny her, however.  From the looks of it, she needed this.  He realized then he would give her anything she needed.

 

* * *

 

Ailla leaned back against the cold stone wall behind her, letting her head fall back against it.  She gazed up through the broken ceiling at the stars, feeling like it was more bearable to look at them than at Cullen.  A numbness was beginning to settle in as she let the thoughts flood into her mind, every feeling, every sight and scent.  Every emotion she spent nearly decade barricading was now inundating her entire being, numbing her to the very core.  

When she spoke, she sounded dazed, far-off.  “I had a friend named Marlene.  A mage.  I met her when I was eleven and she was thirteen.  Fast friends, you know.  She had always known that she was different.  She was.. always afraid.  We saw what happened to people who were different - stolen from their families, blindfolded or with sacks over their heads.  Gagged, sometimes.  So she told me to keep it a secret.  I would sneak out at night and we would go to the fields.  She would make flowers grow right in front of my eyes.  Harmless stuff.  But then one day, a couple of years later…”

_Ailla had gotten into another violent spat with her parents.  Her mother screamed at her, calling her a filthy heretic.  Ailla’s cheek was still throbbing painfully from the back of her father’s hand.  The only thing that seemed to soothe the swollen flesh were the tears streaking down across it.  She hated all of them and their stupid politics.  The only one in her family that she had liked was her big brother and he abandoned her to become a Templar._

_Stupid Templars.  They kidnapped children, siblings, parents, husbands, and wives from their families.  Why was that acceptable for any reason?  Was this really the will of the Maker?  If so, AIlla wanted nothing to do with him or the Chantry or her family who practically groomed her like an animal for that life.  She hated her brother for making her believe that he was on her side, only to become another sheep in the Chantry’s mindless flock._

_Marlene was her only family.  Ailla knew it was always risky, meeting her in the slums of Ostwick but it was the only place where people didn’t recognize her as Bann Trevelyan’s daughter.  If they saw her out on her own, they’d run and tell her parents.  Even so, she wore a long cloak with a hood, just to be safe._

_“Where are you off to, girl?”_

_Ailla had her brother’s old rusty daggers strapped to her belt  and she reached for the hilts.  She glanced around her to see two grown men and a woman surrounding her.  They were ragged, clearly without a home with the dirt that encrusted on their faces and their clothes faded and torn.  None of them were wearing shoes._

_“That’s a nice cloak you have on.” The woman’s voice was high and raspy, like she spent too much of her life smoking pipes._

_Before Ailla could respond, one of the men yanked at the cloak, tightening the drawstrings around her neck and causing them to snap.  She yelped, frightened, tightening her grip around the dagger’s hilt to keep her hand from shaking before drawing it from its sheath.  She blindly slashed at the man behind her who effortlessly caught her wrist.  Her brother’s training apparently had gone entirely to waste.  Ailla was decent against unmoving dummies but evidently useless against people._

_The man pried the dagger out of her hand and pressed it against her neck to keep her from struggling or screaming.  Her heart was in her throat and she could hardly breath from the fear, her wide eyes frantically moving from one assailant to the next as they closed in._

_“A pretty girl like you ain’t from here,” the other man deduced, roughly grabbing her face in his dirty hand.  He smelled of garbage and urine.  “You’s from a noble family, ain’t ya?  I betcha got some coin on ya.”_

_The woman let out a shrill giggle that raked into Ailla’s eardrums. “We can ransom this li’l bitch for some real coin.  Gag her and let’s go.”_

_“Hey!”_

_Ailla was too afraid to be relieved at the voice.  The three assailants whipped around to see another young girl, her short raven hair whipping around her face from the sheer energy that pulsed from her body.  Her hands were balled into fists at her side but a bright green light writhed around them like angry serpents.  “Release her,” Marlene demanded in as low a growl her fifteen-year-old-girl voice could manage.  “Or I swear to the Maker, you will suffer.”_

_“Shit, s’one of those mages,” one man cursed.  He released Ailla’s wrist and backed away slowly with his compatriots before they all turned and fled._

_Ailla had fallen to her knees, crying, her entire body quaking.  She had never been assaulted before, not by strangers.  Only her father had ever laid a violent hand on her and she never had it in her to draw a knife against him.  Marlene ran over to her and knelt beside her, wiping away her tears.  Her hands were still glowing green and they emitted a very comforting warmth._

_“It’s okay, Ailla, you’re safe now,” Marlene whispered.  She wrapped her thin arms around Ailla and pulled her in close, resting her chin atop her head._

_“M-Marly…  they know your s-secret...”  Ailla was barely able to speak through her chattering teeth._

_Marlene hushed her.  “Don’t worry about that.  I’d never forgive myself if I let anything happen to you.”  She chuckled quietly, “Those fools.  Didn’t realize that I can only heal.  That’s why I glow green, see?”_

_Ailla sniffled and lifted her head from Marlene’s chest, watching her twiddle her fingers, the green light slithering in between them.  Ailla blinked as Marlene brought her glowing hand to her injured cheek where her father had smacked her and the throbbing gradually disappeared.  She didn’t have to tell Marlene where the injury came from.  Despite herself, Ailla smile, letting out a watery chuckle.  “That’s amazing, Marly.”_

At some point in her tale, AIlla had slid down against the wall and sat against it instead.  She rested her chin on her knees as she hugged them against her chest.  It wasn’t until her eyes shifted up to Cullen did she realize she was crying, her vision blurring with the tears and distorting his image.  It was the first time she had looked at him since she began her story.  He was trying hard to keep an unreadable expression on his face.  A valiant effort but he failed miserably.  His jaw muscles visibly jumped beneath his skin as he clenched his teeth and his eyebrows were twitching together.  Cullen wasn’t a stupid man and he likely already put together the next piece of this fucked up puzzle.  

“Well,” Ailla said quietly, “We laid low for a little bit, didn’t meet up for a couple of weeks.  It didn’t help.  One night, in the fields near the slums…”

_“There!  There, that’s the mage girl!”_

_Marlene’s gaze snapped toward the voice.  It was one of Ailla’s assailants, the one who had the dagger to her throat.  With him were two Templar knights.  “No..” Marlene whispered, and Ailla could almost feel the blood in her veins turning to ice._

_The Templars marched over to them, and before Marlene could flee, one of them lunged at her and roughly grabbed onto her upper arm, yanking her to her feet.  She cried out, reaching for Ailla who readily gripped her hand.  “Please, no!  She was just helping me!!”_

_The two men’s eyes were so cold, so uncaring.  Ruthless.  They were older, likely in their late forties.  The Order had already sapped away whatever humanity they had left.  The other Templar had been prepared for Ailla, shoving her to the ground hard enough that their grasps broke apart immediately._

_“Ailla!” Marlene screamed as she was dragged through the dirt and grass._

_The Templar who had shoved her down planted a heavy boot onto her solar plexus to keep her from standing, knocking the air right out of her lungs.  “Get off of her!” she heard Marlene shriek._

_Even as she was being dragged away, she wanted to keep Ailla safe…  Ailla couldn’t speak, still trying to recover from the initial blow from the Templar’s boot.  Marlene’s screams were growing more and more distant until they disappeared entirely.  Tears sprang anew from Ailla’s eyes, and she sobbed with whatever air the Templar would allow in and out of her lungs.  The man who alerted the Templars must have fled because the only sound that could be heard across the plains were Ailla’s gasps._

_“P-please.. she won’t.. hurt anyone..” she rasped._

_“Shut up, you bloody mage sympathizer,” he growled, stepping off of her and gripping a handful of her tunic.  There was something else in his cold eyes.  Something wicked.  Ailla’s terror had frozen the scream tearing at her throat.  The Templar ripped away the front of her tunic with ease.  As if the night wasn’t horrifying enough, the universe and its beloved Maker needed to add a cherry to top it all off._

_They were in the slums of Ostwick.  Nobody would hear.  And if they did, nobody would care._  

Ailla couldn’t go on.  Her throat was too tight.  Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists.  She hugged her knees tighter to keep from trembling as she forced down the sob that rose from her chest.  It had been so long since she let herself think about what happened, and it was the first time she had ever talked about it.  She couldn’t look at Cullen.  Ailla felt so ashamed and she didn’t know why.  Hate and grief seethed out of every pore as she sat there, stripped of all defenses.  

Ailla had to remind herself of why she was even telling Cullen in the first place.  It almost wasn’t worth it, having to recount everything like this.  But every night, she saw Cullen, in place of the Templar who dragged her own dagger down the side of her neck as he forced himself onto her, a thirteen-year-old girl, all because she sympathized with mages.  The nightmares with Cullen started only after the blizzard, when she had nearly died with her one regret, and she had to put two and two together - she felt guilty for associating him with her hate for Templars.  Cullen was a good man.  Maybe if she told him the truth, he would finally leave her dreams.  She could only hope that this assumption was correct.

Confessing this to him had to mean something.

 

* * *

 

It took every fiber of Cullen’s being not to grab hold of his desk and heave it over.  His head was spinning with rage but he managed to internalize it.  He wanted it to be a lie.  He wanted her to have fabricated all of it.  He heard the rumors of the abuse that happened within the Circles, as Templars were left completely to their own devices. But Cullen had to have enough faith in his brethren, choosing to believe that these deplorable assaults were few and far between.  As if what happened at the Circle Tower and with Meredith in Kirkwall wasn’t enough to shake his faith.  Now this.

The pain in his head was unbearable, throbbing behind his eyes and shooting down his spine.  The anger caused it to fluctuate and he tried to calm his rapid heart beat with a deep inhale through his nose.  

The Inquisitor went on, choosing not to look at him again and rather to the floor beside her.  “That’s where I got this scar, you know.  He did that to me,” she muttered into her arms.  “Anyway… for the next few years after that, I traveled around the Free Marches looking for her, hoping I would see her again, just to make sure she was okay.  I had run into an apostate, finally, who had been in the same Circle as she.  Apparently, she refused her Harrowing and was made Tranquil.  Sometime after, she killed herself.  He wouldn’t tell me how.”  

She locked her watery eyes onto his now, the look in them desperate, pleading for answers.  Her voice came out as little more than a pained whisper, “Cullen, I don’t understand.  Aren’t Templars supposed to protect mages too?  Isn’t that what they say?  How could they let her do that?”

Cullen couldn’t answer her; Templars needed to be prepared for everything, even suicide.  He could hardly look her in the eye.  He had half a mind to find the man who had disgraced her and cleave his head off of his shoulders.  But his anger wasn’t all aimed at the lecher.  Cullen was furious with himself for assuming that he understood her hate. It was always difficult for him, taking children away to live in the Circle but he always felt it needed to be done.  Many people hated the Templars just for that, among other reasons, and he had lumped the Inquisitor in with the lot of them.

He could have never predicted that the Inquisitor was… Cullen gritted his teeth, feeling his temper flare again. The rumors were bad enough on their own.  Templars treating the mages with such injustice, sexual or otherwise, was wretched.  And to commit that same injustice to a child who befriended a mage?

The Inquisitor sniffed, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her tunic before wearily standing to her feet, hugging herself again. He had never seen her so vulnerable.  “Anyway,” she sighed, her voice shaking, eyes bloodshot as they leveled with his, “It would be foolish to think that every Templar would do what that man did, and for that reason.  But it hasn’t escaped me that Templars are hardened and calloused by what they do, and they’re the ones that took Marly from me.  They are the reason she’s dead.  An innocent, kind soul - gone.  And if that man could do that to me simply because I was a _mage sympathizer_ ,” the Inquisitor spat the words like acid on her tongue, “then I can only imagine the horrors some mages face at the mercy of a handful of Templars.”

Cullen’s temper was beginning to fizzle but he could still feel the heat of it beneath every inch of skin.  Her pain was deeper than anything he could have imagined.  Her only friend was taken to the Circle and, in the end, she took her own life.  As much as Cullen believed that governing mages was the safest route, he never entirely agreed with the Circles, and Marlene’s suicide only strengthen that belief.  And what that man did to the Inquisitor… Cullen banished the thought as his he felt his stomach twist.  He opened his mouth to say something, even though he was at a loss for words.  What in the Maker’s name could he possibly say to her?

The Inquisitor spared him the trouble and said with a sad smile, despite herself, “The reason I’m telling you any of this is because I want you to know that I don’t see you that way.  I could never.. ever see you that way, Cullen.  You.. have proven me wrong, time and time again.  You have taken this hate I have for the Order and forced me to question it, despite what happened, because you’re a good man.  You - oh!”

Her words had dissipated Cullen’s anger in an instant, and before he knew what he was doing, he took long strides over to her and pulled her into a tight embrace.   Her faith in him made his heart swell inside of his chest.  She thought he was a good man?  That made one of them.  The tragedies she’s had to experience still threatened to light a fury inside of him but for now, he felt appreciative that she had opened up to him at all.  She trusted him, truly trusted him.

The Inquisitor didn’t try to escape his embrace and, for a moment, just stood there.  Then she sobbed into his chest, keeping her arms tucked against herself but leaning into him, her entire frame trembling.  Cullen’s tightened his arms around her in reassurance, their respective heights leaving his lips naturally resting against her head.  As he held her, he finally realized how much he needed this - needed her.  He wanted to be there for her, to be the pillar she could lean on no matter how heavy the weight of the world became.  Cullen gently stroked her hair, which seemed to calm her down, her sobs quieting to gentle sniffles.

Cullen wasn’t sure how long they had embraced but he could have stood there forever with her in her his arms, and eventually he watched the sunrise over the mountains through his office window.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter was long and boring, or if it dragged on a bit but it needed to be written eventually so their relationship could progress. I hope you did like it however, and of course, any feedback would be appreciated! Thanks!
> 
> ~ninjanna138


	11. Confessions of an Addict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailla spends the day with her companions to keep her mind off of her feelings for Cullen.
> 
> Cullen decides that it is time to tell the Inquisitor that he is no longer taking lyrium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I was thinking that there isn't enough interaction between Ailla and the other characters. At most, they get mentioned here and there and I wanted to change that, which will be evident in this chapter. Let the Dorian/Quizzie best friendship flourish! Thank you for reading! Any feedback and critique is much appreciated! 
> 
> Side note: Toootally forgot that Mother Giselle wanted to the contents of that letter to be kept from Dorian, so I apologize for the inconsistency. FORGIVE ME!!! T_T 
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Ailla sat at the bar in the tavern with Dorian and Iron Bull on either side of her, sipping at her third mug of ale.  She had spent the rest of her day off killing time with her companions.  She had made a terribly butchered wooden rocking horse with Blackwall, talked spirits with Solas, lost miserably to Varric in an archery contest, and hacked at a few training dummies with Cassandra.  Now she was ending the night with Dorian and Bull, wanting to get just enough alcohol in her system to help keep the nightmares at bay.

Ailla had just finished giving them the rundown of what happened with Cullen.  No real details of what was said, of course, but enough for them to get the picture.  She said words, he said words, she cried some, they hugged - end of story.

“So what happened after that?”  Bull asked before he emptied half of his enormous mug, unphased by the liquid that was surely burning down his gullet.  

“I left his office,” Ailla muttered as she planted an elbow onto the bar and leaned forward, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple.  She felt warm all over as the alcohol started to mingle in with her blood and stream through her veins.

“Honestly?” Dorian sounded incredulous.  “That’s all we get?  A hug?”

“Well.. yeah.  That’s all that happened.”

The mage folded his arms across his chest, looking positively disappointed.  “I was hoping for something more, oh I don’t know, riveting.”

Ailla accompanied her scoff with a roll of her eyes.  “I don’t know what you heard exactly but I’m pretty sure I didn’t start this little tale with ‘guys, guess what?  I totally screwed the Commander last night.’”

“Would have made for a more interesting tale, that’s for sure,” Iron Bull remarked as he barked out a laugh.

Ailla groaned, letting her forehead thud onto the countertop.  “I’m _trying_ to express my hardships here.  Y ou two are horrible friends.”

“Alright, alright,” Dorian said with a chuckle, raising his hands in resignation.  “All jesting aside.  You must really have it bad for our dear Commander if you were willing to reveal all of your dirty little secrets to him in one night.”

“That’s what I’m _saying_ ,” she sighed in exasperation.  Ailla sat up straight and ran a hand through her hair.  “I’ve never felt this way before.  Makes me sick.  And now he knows fucking everything.”  She snatched up her mug and took three large swigs, letting the liquid scorch down the walls of her throat.  She suppressed the need to cough out her lungs as the burn traveled back up from her chest and sizzled into her nose.   “Guhh…”

“What’s so bad about that?” Bull asked with a nonchalant shrug.  “Now there are no surprises for him if you two ever hook up.”

And with that, Ailla finished her drink.   _Hook up_.  That was the last thing she wanted to think about but the thought found its way into every corner of her mind anyway.  His arms around her felt so _good_ , so secure.  His presence, his touch, the way he looked at her - damn near everything about him filled the void that had been left deep inside of her soul the night Marlene had been taken away.  Cullen was like some kind of healing solution for a wound that never truly scarred over.  Even the rage that had filled his eyes after she told him what happened, revealing how much he actually cared about her - it made her insides melt.

Ailla went through most of her life without the flame of motivation.  Often times, she had asked herself what was the point of it all.  And then she joined the Inquisition, staying because she felt like it was the right thing to do.  She needed to become the Inquisitor for the sake of all of Thedas.  But when it came to _personal_ wants?  The only thing that came to mind was Cullen.

Maker, she wanted him.

“Cabot.”  Ailla gave the Herald’s Rest barkeep an inward flick of her fingers, signaling for another drink.  “Strongest thing you’ve got.”

The dwarf was taking a rag to the inside of a small glass as he turned to look at her.  He raised an eyebrow and smirked.  “You sure, Inquisitor?  You might not come back from it.”

She was already feeling rather warm and her head was a little swimmy but she welcomed the challenge.  “Cabot, my friend, I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

* * *

 

The next morning wasn’t pretty.  She spent half an hour purging her stomach over the balcony of her quarters as the sun barely peeked out over the horizon.  She felt absolutely wretched.  The alcohol didn’t even help chase the nightmares away.  She still dreamt about the night Marlene had been taken away but to her immense relief, Cullen hadn’t been involved with that one again.  Perhaps her hunch was right; the guilt had been twisting her nightmares into something she could hardly endure, and telling him the truth had alleviated it.

Instead, her mind had settled for the usual last night - Temple of Sacred Ashes, pool of blood, dead friends, the occasional Red Templar Cullen looking to crush her like a bug and forcing her to pierce a dagger through heart.   _Those_ nightmares she could handle.  

Dorian was asleep on the couch, an arm hanging limply off of the edge.  Iron Bull laid sprawled out across the floor on his stomach, snoring like a bear.  She tried to think back on the previous night and her mind flashed a memory of Bull hoisting her over his shoulder to carry her to her quarters.  She chuckled ruefully, wondering what that must have looked like to the people of Skyhold.  Their holy Inquisitor intoxicated to the point of incapacitation.  The fact that she had also shared her room with a Tevinter Mage and a Qunari mercenary likely didn’t help the situation either.  

Many months ago, she wouldn’t have concerned herself with the thoughts of others but now she felt a pang of remorse.  A small one but it was there nonetheless.  They would either accept the fact that she was still human and had her own demons to fight, or they would see her as weak-willed and unhallowed, traits not befitting of a messenger of the Maker.    Ailla rubbed the back of her neck, sighing wearily, as she blinked against the sun that had now fully risen over the mountains.

She left the balcony and walked over to Bull, lightly nudging him in the ribs with her foot.  “Bull..” she mumbled.  It had been the first time she used her voice that morning and it came out quiet and hoarse.  She cleared her throat.  “Buuuuull…!”

The Qunari snorted awake, his head jerking up.  “Wha..? Ughh, my fucking head..”  He rolled over with a thud, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Dorian roused awake as well, bringing a hand to his forehead.  Even after a night of drinking, the mage managed to wake up with very little dishevelment, his hair barely ruffled and his eyes free from both dark bags and redness. Maybe it was a Tevinter thing.  “Remind me never to drink with you two ever again,” he groaned, giving a small shake of his head.  “No sense of restraint whatsoever.”

“It’s not like we forced that seventh flagon down your throat,” Ailla countered with a weak grin.

“Speaking of shoving things down one’s throat,” Dorian added, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and giving his back a good stretch.  “Mother Giselle passed along a letter to me from my father yesterday.  Did I ever tell you how much I loathe that man?”

Another image from last night flashed across Ailla’s mind.  Dorian had been five drinks deep when he raised his mug high in the air, declaring that it was his father’s head before chucking it against the wall.  Thankfully, the mug was made out of wood so there was no mess to clean but she doubted Cabot appreciated the noise any more so.  “You.. might’ve mentioned it,” Ailla muttered, scratching the back of her head.  

He went on, “Well, dear father wants me to meet a family retainer in Redcliffe.  This retainer is supposed to bring me to him so we can speak privately.  Apparently my father worries for my safety and he’s ‘alarmed’ at my decision to ally with you Inquisition folk.  Do you know what he said in the letter?  ‘ _I know my son._ ’  What my father knows of me would barely fit a thimble.”  His voice was becoming increasingly irritated with each word.  “This is so typical.”

As Bull sat up, he and Ailla exchanged concerned and curious glances.  “So.. you gonna meet with him?” Bull asked.

Dorian snorted.  “Of course not.  I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.  They were never happy with my choices, you know.  That’s why I left.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a balled-up piece of parchment, tossing it in Ailla’s direction for her to catch.  She uncrumpled the paper and smoothed it out before reading through the letter.  It didn’t seem like his father had much hope that his son would actually meet with him.

Ailla was all too familiar with bad blood within the family and it would be hypocritical for her to encourage Dorian to meet with his father.  She sure as hell wouldn’t meet with _her_ father if he’d sent some family retainer to mend the broken pieces of their relationship.  She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little; the difference between her father and Dorian’s was that Bann Trevelyan wouldn’t waste his time and resources on trying to contact his degenerate daughter.  At least Dorian’s father was making an effort, and he was a bloody Tevinter magister.  “I think you should go, Dorian.  If anything, it might give you some closure.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be friends of some sort?” he muttered, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and middle finger.  Dorian sighed in defeat before glancing up at her.  “Fine.  But you’re coming with me.  Let’s meet this so-called family retainer.  If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone!  You’re good at that.  If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with a message that he can stick his alarm in his wit’s end.”

* * *

 

Cullen felt more overwhelmed than usual, despite already being done with most of his work for the day.  It wasn’t the workload that was inundating his mind but rather his own rampant thoughts.  So much had transpired in the last few days and he wasn’t even sure if he’d processed it all yet.  

He must have replayed the Inquisitor’s story a dozen times in his head and he still refused to come to terms with what that Templar did.  It made his blood boil, creating an ire that seethed out of every pore.  He drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his heel repeatedly against the floor.  He couldn’t keep still.

The only thing that seemed to ease his foul mood was the thought of holding the Inquisitor against him, how she had trusted him enough to let him embrace and comfort her.  He felt a strange pride in knowing that she was able to abandon her defenses long enough to let him in. She always seemed to be guarded so it couldn't have been easy for her to do that. Even so, Cullen wanted to be the person she trusted the most.  It was certainly an unreasonable thing to wish for.  There had to be others with whom she shared the same confidence with.

Dorian and Iron Bull for example.  The rumors didn’t take long to travel through Skyhold.  Apparently, a couple of nights ago, the Inquisitor had a few too many drinks at the tavern and Dorian and Bull had to carry her to bed.  According to one of the soldiers, the two hadn’t left her quarters until late the next morning.  The obvious assumptions that people were making had his stomach in knots, jealousy and confusion kneading at his insides.  The Inquisitor’s personal life shouldn’t have been any of his business but that certainly wasn’t the impression she gave him the other night.  Cullen cursed, shaking his head.  That still didn’t mean he needed to know who she bloody slept with. She could be as promiscuous as she wanted.

He ran his hand down the bottom half of his face.  Was he really giving into these silly rumors?  Even if they were true, it wasn’t as if they were together.

...but he wanted them to be.  “Maker’s breath,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

Cullen tried to focus on a more pressing matter, which was the lyrium kit he had sitting on his desk in front of him.  The mere sight of the tiny blue bottle made his eyes hurt.  He hadn’t yet told the Inquisitor that he stopped taking lyrium, which was something she deserved to know.  It seemed like his withdrawal symptoms were worsening each day and she needed to be prepared to replace him if necessary.  The thought made his chest tight.

A scout entered the room, saluting him before reporting, “Commander, the Inquisitor has returned from Redcliffe with the Tevinter mage.  I requested her presence in your office as you’ve asked.”

Cullen nodded.  “Thank you.  Carry on.” The scout saluted once again and took his leave.

What business did they have in Redcliffe?  No crucial reports had come in from the Hinterlands, not since the watchtowers had been built.  It must have been a personal errand, which wasn't unheard of.  But did they have to be so secretive about it?  The Inquisitor had informed her advisors during a war meeting that she was travelling to Redcliffe with Dorian and she couldn’t say why.  He hadn’t seen her since then and that was a couple of days ago.  Cullen felt another bout of jealousy flare inside of his chest. The two of them had become fast friends, which was more than he could say about the himself and the Inquisitor  

He did, however, find that he was looking forward to seeing her again.  He finally understood why she was always on his mind when she was gone, why just thinking about her seemed to lift his spirits on a particularly difficult day.  It seemed rather simple now.  He missed her.

Cullen ran a hand through his hair.  No matter how composed he made himself look on the outside, he was an utter mess on the inside.  He planted his hands on his desk, looming over the assortment of lyrium paraphernalia packed neatly into the wooden box.   

The door to his office crept open and the Inquisitor poked her head inside.  “Cullen?”

Remembering why he had asked her to come to his office in the first place, Cullen found that he wasn’t as happy to see her as he previously anticipated.  

* * *

“Need me for something?” Ailla asked, trying a little too hard to be casual.  They hadn’t really spoken one-on-one since the night she spilled her secrets and she was afraid that their next encounter alone would feel awkward.  She walked in, taking a few steps toward his desk.

Cullen lifted his head at her approach, looking mildly distressed.  “As leader of the Inquisition, you..” he sighed, straightening up and resting his hands on the hilt of his blade. “There’s something I must tell you.”

Ailla almost felt relieved that his request to speak with her was business-related.  There wasn’t much room for awkwardness when it came to discussing Inquisition matters.  “Whatever it is, I’m willing to listen,” she told him.   _It’s the least I can do, really…_

“Thank you,” he said quietly, leaning into his desk again with his hands.  Ailla followed his gaze to a small wooden box that housed trinkets she didn’t recognize.  Then she spotted a tiny glass bottle which held a glowing blue liquid.   _Lyrium_.  Cullen went on, “Lyrium grants Templars their abilities but it controls them as well.  Those cut off suffer.  Some go mad; others die.  We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here.  But I.. no longer take it.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise and his words echoed ominously within her mind.   _Some go mad; others die._.  Ailla felt her stomach twist as she pictured the light leaving his eyes, an image that she was intimately familiar with thanks to the nightmares.  She didn’t know much about lyrium until she joined the Inquisition, and Varric was rather knowledgeable on the subject.  She had also been made aware of the adverse effects it had on Templars and, at the time, she figured that addiction was the least they could suffer through.  The guilt stung anew inside of her chest; she had no idea Cullen had stopped taking lyrium.  “You.. stopped?”  

Cullen kept his gaze steady on the contents inside of the wooden box.  “When I joined the Inquisition.  It’s been months now.”

“Why are you doing this?”  Some strange sense of urgency compelled Ailla to step closer to his desk until it was the only thing distancing them from each other.  “If this could kill you..”

“It hasn’t yet,” he declared firmly, straightening up again to look at her.  He always had that same resolve in his eyes, unwavering and unyielding.  “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t.. I will not be bound to the Order, or that life any longer.”

Ailla's heart fell into her stomach. She felt guilty for having outright judged Cullen when they first met, mixing him in with everything she hated about the Order.  She figured that the guilt would have dissolved after their conversation the other night, especially since her nightmares were no longer conjoining him with past horrors.  But now, as he openly renounced his earlier life as a Templar, that guilt felt sharper than ever.  She had dismissed him as just another member of a congregation that he didn’t even want to be involved with anymore.

“Whatever the suffering, I accept it,” he proclaimed.  “But I will not put the Inquisition at risk.  I’ve asked Cassandra to.. watch me.  If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“Are you in pain?” Ailla asked, unafraid to reveal her primary concern.  Sure, Cullen’s absence as Commander would be a detriment to the Inquisition; it would deal a massive blow to morale and they would need to spend resources finding a good enough replacement.  But to Ailla, those matters paled in comparison to the possibility of Cullen dying.   _Really_ dying.  

“I can endure it,” he replied with some confidence.

Ailla wondered how much pain he was right now but quickly pushed the thought out of her mind.   _Business.  This was business._  She almost felt annoyed at herself for how much she was letting this worry her.  Yet, she hadn’t been this worried about a single person since before she found out about Marlene’s death.  Ailla focused on the matter at hand, leveling her gaze with his.  “Thank you for telling me.  I respect what you’re doing.”  She managed an even tone until she hastily added, “And.. not because of how I feel about Templars..”

Cullen gave her a small, understanding smile.  “Thank you, Inquisitor.”  His expression sobered as he rubbed at the back of his neck.   _Ah.  Not a nervous tick._  “The Inquisition’s army must always take priority.  Should anything happen, I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.”

“I understand,” she said with a nod, though she still felt uneasy.  

For a moment, neither of them said anything.  Business was over and the awkwardness was beginning to settle in.  It seemed like Cullen felt is as well, his gaze averting to the side as he continued to rub at his neck.  Ailla cleared her throat then, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the door behind her.  “I should, um, probably go.  We’re travelling to Crestwood today.  Something about a huge rift causing the dead to rise.”  She decided to make an attempt to alleviate the tension, “I hear that makes some people uncomfortable.”

It worked.  Cullen chuckled, his lips turning up into a genial smile,  “Yes, that would do it.  I suppose I shall see you upon your return then?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a small smile of her own.  She turned to leave but stopped, feeling like something was still left unresolved, like an obligation that hadn’t been met.  Ailla sighed as the guilt continued to twist at her insides.  She took a deep breath before moving to face Cullen again.  “I didn’t get a chance to say it the other night but I really am sorry, Cullen.”

His eyebrows knitted together for a moment but rose soon after with surprise and understanding.

Ailla went on before he could respond though she was having trouble meeting his eyes now, “I know I said that I don’t see you the way I see other Templars but.. that’s not really an apology.  I shouldn’t have judged you like that.  It was unworthy of me, especially since I didn’t know what you were enduring.”

The words were more difficult to say than she had expected.  She was no better at apologizing to people than she was opening up to them.  However, Cullen seemed to appreciate it all the same. At first, it didn't look like he knew what to say; he clearly wasn't expecting the apology. Then his smile turned warm as his expression softened.  “I forgive you, Inquisitor.”  

The sincerity in his voice created a wave of relief that washed over her.  She felt the muscles in her shoulders relax all at once as she breathed out a long sigh.  If Cullen could forgive her, then it was entirely possible that she could find a way to forgive herself as well.  Ailla decided to leave on that high note, giving him quick, two-fingered salute.  “I’ll see you later, Cullen.”

He nodded, his token half-smile tugging at his lips now.  Ailla felt her stomach flutter.  

“Until then, Inquisitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this chapter out, I realized that I really should have had the not-taking-lyrium scene BEFORE Ailla told Cullen about her past... I feel like it would have made more sense that way. OH WELL, TOO LATE NOW. Also, I'm sorry if the writing's a little choppy in this one. I finished it at like, 5 AM... In any case, I hope you guys enjoyed it and THANK YOU FOR READING! :)
> 
>  
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	12. Moonlight Sonata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition claims victory at the Winter Palace, preventing the assassination of Empress Celene and ending the civil war all in one night. Cullen knows that they owe nearly all of that to the Inquisitor.
> 
> Ailla slowly finds herself giving into her feelings for Cullen, becoming more and more lost as she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, guys, my chapter titles don't even make sense sometimes.. haha. I hope you enjoy it and, more importantly, I hope you don't hate me too much for how this chapter ended... THANKS FOR READING! Any feedback is always welcome!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!

Cullen had never been so impressed by a single person in his entire life.  He watched from the upper deck of the ballroom as the Inquisitor swiftly implicated the Grand Duchess in front of the entire court.  There was always someone in the higher ranks of nobility that worked to get their hands on even more power but Cullen didn't think that Florianne would be daft enough to ally herself with Corypheus.  

He had felt immensely relieved when he spotted the Inquisitor entering the ballroom.  She had been absent for hours and there was no telling when or if she would return.  The Winter Palace, especially during a gathering such as this, could be just as perilous as any battleground.  She was clad in her usual green and brown leathers instead of the ridiculous wardrobe that Josephine insisted they all wear tonight.  He wasn’t surprised to see that her clothes were splattered with blood, as was the side of her neck and face, the red splotches speckling along her skin.  They were dealing with Tevinter assassins, after all.  It was a sight that he had already grown accustomed to but it was also a constant reminder of the danger that the Inquisitor faced each day.

The guards escorted Florianne away and the Inquisitor requested a private audience with the Empress, Ambassador Briala and Grand Duke Gaspard.  The four of them made their way onto one of the balconies outside of the many vaulted windows that lined the ballroom.  The entire court was positively abuzz with everything that had just transpired.

Cullen heard Leliana clear her throat from behind him.  He glanced over his shoulder, raising a curious eyebrow at her.  The Spymaster nodded her head toward window that the Inquisitor  had just disappeared through.   His lips parted into a silent “ah” as his chin tilted up in understanding.  They casually walked over to the window and stood with their backs against the wall, shamelessly eavesdropping.  The guards that spotted them didn’t bother to usher them away, recognizing them as a party to the Inquisitor.  The stupid outfits must have gave it away.

The Inquisitor’s voice was full of the confidence that Cullen owed his admiration to.  “Every one of you has been implicated.  You all conspired to allow this to happen.”

Cullen and Leliana exchanged baffled glances.  What could she have possibly found?

Empress Celene was the first to address her accusation, “That’s a bold claim, Inquisitor.  Are you prepared to defend it?”

She was more prepared than Cullen could have expected. “You allowed the Grand Duke to sneak soldiers in, hoping that he’d make a politically foolish move.”

“That’s duplicitous, even for you, Celene,” Gaspard commented.

The Inquisitor went on, “Of course, Briala was outplaying everyone.  She killed your negotiators and forged new documents.”

“So what if I did?” Briala challenged.  “Take me down and elves will riot in every city in the empire.”

The Inquisitor burst out laughing.  Cullen’s eyes widened at the impropriety and he glanced over to Leliana, whose lips pressed together in a tight line.  After a moment, he realized that the Spymaster was trying to hold back a smile.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the Inquisitor shot back smugly through quiet chuckles, “Not when they learn you’re sleeping with the woman who purged Halamshiral’s alienage.  Did I mention that Gaspard fell for Celene’s trap and was going to attack the palace?”

Cullen’s surprised expression gave way to a wide grin.  He folded his arms across his chest, squaring his shoulders with pride.   _That’s our girl_.

“You’ve made your point.  What do you want?” Celene conceded, sounding less than pleased.

“Considering I’ve outplayed all of you in your silly little game?  You work for me now.  Any and all of your resources will be made available for the Inquisition’s use.  If you don’t want any of your dirty secrets revealed, you’ll do as I say.”

Cullen released a quick breath through his smile, shaking his head in disbelief.  Leliana didn’t bother hiding the smirk on her face now.  To the Spymaster, having this kind of leverage must have been like receiving an early nameday gift… if that gift was a massive pile of gold and maybe a private chateau.

The three of them agreed - not that they had much of a choice - to the Inquisitor’s demands.  One by one, they filed back into the ballroom where the Empress would give her speech announcing this newfound union and the end to the civil war.

The Inquisitor was the last to leave the balcony and she noticed Cullen and Leliana the moment she entered.  She grinned at them with an impish twinkle in her eyes, her expression absolutely beaming  “Did you two enjoy the show?” she asked.

Leliana’s smirk hadn’t left her face.  “Do you really have to ask?  I’m just glad we had front row seats.”

“Honestly?  I would first face a dragon before doing what you just did,” Cullen complimented, still feeling that swell of pride in his chest.  He wasn’t going to deny his feelings for the Inquisitor any longer.  Trying to oppose them when they were so strong and relentless took too much energy and helped only to worsen his headaches.  Still, he was grateful that his feelings were for the Inquisitor, a maddeningly beautiful woman who was just as strong and relentless.  

She gave them a mock curtsy, despite her being in her battle fatigues.  “Why, thank you kindly.  Now if you’ll excuse me, my dear advisors, I have a speech to make.”

* * *

 

The night was finally coming to a close.  No assassination, no more civil war.  Ailla could only hope that they had dealt a blow to Corypheus large enough to slow him down at a least a little.  After speaking with Morrigan, she wasn’t sure if she felt more or less optimistic about victory.

She stood alone on the balcony, finally having the opportunity to enjoy some fresh air.  All of the nobility, politics and fancy decor were making the indoors too stuffy.  She leaned her elbows against the marble railing, rubbing her hands together absentmindedly.  As a light breeze whistled by, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep.  As much as Ailla hated Orlais and damn near everything about it, she had to admit that the weather out here was nice.  It was definitely a pleasant change from the bitter cold always found at Skyhold.

Ailla heard footsteps approaching and she glanced over her shoulder to see Cullen walking toward her.  She couldn’t help herself; she gave him a quick once-over, liking what she saw.  He was the only one among them - and Dorian as well, of course - who could pull off that noble attire and he did so very well.  She faced forward before she could determine if he noticed or not.

Cullen stood next her and leaned against the rail.  “Things have calmed down for the moment.  Are you alright?”

Always worrying.  For her.  At least it was a comfort to know that she worried about him just as much.  While she tried her best to listen in on nobles while in the ballroom, her attention was always redirected to Cullen, observing him for signs of withdrawal.  He seemed fine but she couldn’t tell if it was all just a facade.  She would have never guessed he was experiencing these symptoms if he hadn’t told her, which only made her feel more pissed off at herself.  Had she been that blind?  Now, every time she saw him rub his neck and massage at his temples, she saw pain, not stress.

She tried to give herself a little more credit.  She doubted anyone else beside her and Cassandra knew about his decision to stop taking lyrium.  Ailla sighed, trying to find the words that would honestly answer his question.   “I’m just worn out.  Tonight has been very long.” She hadn’t realized how tired she was until she heard her own voice.

“For all of us,” Cullen added with a small, sympathetic smile.  “I’m glad it’s over.”

They were silent for a moment, and Ailla was relieved to find that she didn’t feel awkward at all.  Maybe it was the exhaustion.  She wanted to head back to Skyhold as soon as possible so she could fall into bed and sleep for.. however long her nightmares allowed her to.  Last night while she slept, she was at the Temple of Sacred Ashes again and it was there that she killed Cullen, only he wasn’t a Red Templar this time.  It was just Cullen, in his everyday armor and mantle, his eyes wide with shock and betrayal as her dagger sunk effortless into his chest.  The nightmares were beginning to make less and less sense, blurring together to create more horrible scenes to be replayed in her mind.

Cullen broke the silence, pulling her out of her reverie.  “I.. was worried about you tonight.”

Ailla blinked in surprise, glancing over to him.  He lowered his head, avoiding her eyes, and in the soft glow of the moonlight, she could see that his cheeks were filling with color.  She felt her shoulders slump a little.  These feelings were killing her and Cullen’s concerns only made it worse.  But he had every right to worry.  They were friends, after all.  Right?  Ailla turned that thought over inside of her mind.  Why else would he have chosen to comfort her like he had?  Isn’t that was friends did?  Ailla wasn’t really an expert on friendship.  Before she joined the Inquisition, she only ever had Marlene, and she had been gone for a long time.  There were a few acquaintances here and there, former one-night lovers who decided to stick around for a few more days, but no one she came to truly care about.  

But now she had Cullen, and Dorian, Bull, Sera, Varric - everyone.  In one way or another, they were there for her and, yes, she would give her life for each and every one of them.  And Cullen… well, she just happened to have feelings for him.  Did he return them?  She wasn’t sure.  The blush on his face told her that he might but he wasn’t the most social person either.  It could very well be possible that he just wasn’t accustomed to situations like this.  Yes, of course, that had to be it.

Ailla gave him a small smile.  “I appreciate the thought, Cullen,” she muttered, feeling the weariness in her eyes now.  “I can handle a few nobles.  I handled my parents for over two decades, after all.”

“You told me you fought with your parents a lot,” Cullen commented, looking genuinely curious.  He blinked, as if catching himself.  “Forgive me, I shouldn’t pry.”

Ailla chuckled with a shake of her head.  She hadn’t given him too much detail on that subject so she couldn’t blame him for being curious.  “No, it’s alright.  Yeah, they didn’t really.. agree with the choices I made.” When she had begun her tale, she carefully tiptoed around the mention of heresy.  She didn’t tell Cullen why her and her parents fought, only that they did.  Ailla wasn’t ready to reveal just how different they really were.

“And you stayed?  Even when your father.. struck you?”  Cullen sounded like he couldn’t fathom the thought.

“Marlene asked me to stay,” Ailla said quietly, looking out into the distance now.  Halamshiral was beautiful, the architecture far more pristine than anything that could be found in Ferelden.  But she didn’t see any of it.  From her peripherals, she saw Cullen’s surprise so she went on, “The.. hitting wasn’t too frequent.  Most of it was angry shouting.  There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about running away but Marlene always convinced me to stay.  She lived in the slums, you know, so she always wondered what it would be like to live like a noble.  She would have loved going to one of these things.  Isn’t that mad?  Anyway, we had money, a nice chateau, and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go anyway.  She thought I’d be in too much danger if I went out on my own.  She worried like that, you know.  So I stayed.”

Cullen nodded, looking like he somewhat understood but there was still a hint of question in his eyes.

Ailla took a guess, “You’re wondering why I stayed even after Marly died.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck before stammering out, “I.. well, yes but if you don’t wish to speak of it..”

“It’s fine, Cullen, really,” she reassured him with a dismissive wave of her hand.  To her surprise, she was okay with talking about this.  She considered the possibility that she was only comfortable with it because she was talking to Cullen.  The man already knew most of her secrets, after all.  This was really nothing compared to what she had told him in his office. “She was right.  I didn’t have anywhere else to go.  And.. Ostwick was her home.  Our home, where we spent our childhood.  I couldn’t leave her...  Oh boy.”  Ailla exhaled shakily through her mouth, quickly wiping away the tears that were building at the corner of her eyes before they fell.  Damn it, she hated crying.

“I am so sorry, Inquisitor,” Cullen said quickly, pushing off of the rail and straightening his back, “I’ll speak no more of it.”

Ailla tried to smile, to reassure him again but she bit down on her bottom lip instead.  Apparently, it wasn’t fine.  At first, she felt okay but with every word she spoke, the tighter her throat became, the heavier her heart felt.  Even now, she missed Marlene with every piece of her soul. Ailla couldn’t believe it still hurt this much to think about it.  Perhaps it was because she never let herself think about it, until recently.

And Cullen seemed to be the only thing that could make that pain feel less sharp.  

The music from inside of the ballroom drifted out onto the balcony, a slow, sultry tune created by a myriad of harps, lutes, tabors, and shawms.  Ailla straightened up and turned to him suddenly, “Can we dance?”  Well, she couldn’t very well just ask him to hug her, could she?  She felt like she was falling apart and she needed him to hold her together, just long enough so she could reconstruct herself.  Just like he had in his office the other night.  So dancing, it was.

He looked utterly baffled, trapped almost, and it made her heart sink.  She casted her gaze down toward the ground.  What a stupid thing to ask.  Of course he didn’t want to dance.  He hated these kinds of things just as much as she did.  She braced for the rejection, preparing to withdraw into herself which was apparently her first course of action whenever it came to dealing - or not dealing - with pain.  Her heart was in her throat as she felt the tears begin to well up again.   _Damn it, damn it, I hate this.  I hate this.  I-_

Cullen gently grabbed a hold of each of her hands and it wasn’t until then did she notice that she had been clenching them into tight fists.  They started to shake as she made an attempt to relax them, slowly uncurling her fingers which he took lightly in between his.  Ailla swallowed hard, feeling her heart thump loudly inside of her chest.  She slowly looked up at him to find that his eyes waiting for hers and the heat filled her cheeks almost instantly.

He took one of her hands and placed it gingerly on his shoulder.  With the other hand he still held, he poised it in the air out to the side of them, keeping a light grip on it.  Hesitantly, he rested his free hand at her hip, giving her a few moments in case she wanted to object.  She didn’t.  Ailla could only stare up at him, eyes wide as she felt the pain slowly start to slip away, the pain that only moments ago threatened to break her again.

Cullen’s eyes were soft and warm as they searched her face, and he said quietly, “I must warn you: I am a terrible dancer.  I might injure you.”

Ailla couldn’t help her smile, a silent laugh shaking her chest and shoulders.  This made it impossible to stop the tears from falling.  They raced down her cheeks and met at her chin before dripping off to soak into her cowl.  She let them fall this time, not wanting to ruin the sculpture Cullen had created from them.  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”  She hardly managed a whisper, her throat still feeling a little tight.

With a warm smile on his face, he began to move them slowly with the melody.  She followed his footwork, making sure to take a stride back whenever he moved forward, shifting forward whenever he stepped back.  She continued to follow his lead like this until they finally fell into a steady enough rhythm with the music that played from inside.  They danced together as if they had done so a thousand times before.  Cullen’s eyes hadn’t once left hers and she was so busy losing herself in them that she was hardly aware of how close their bodies were getting.  

Why was he doing this?   _He’s just being nice, you were clearly distressed._

Just before their chests pressed together, Cullen wrapped his arm around her waist and slowly dipped her, keeping his hold on her firm.  Ailla closed her eyes and let herself relax, tilting her head back as her frame arched.  She knew he wasn’t going to drop her.  After only a few seconds, he gently lifted her so she could stand upright again, their bodies even closer than before.

Ailla’s heart was still pounding inside of her chest as she could feel his heat radiating off him, making her feel very warm despite the night being rather cool.  It made her ache, having him this close to her, one hand on her hip, the other grasping hers.  Her eyes flickered briefly to his lips before averting away from his face all together.  

What happened to her nerve?  She had plenty of it when she was making demands of the bloody Empress of Orlais. If she could have her way now with that same unwavering nerve, she would take his face in her hands, pull his lips into hers, and, Maker help her, they would find a room right there in the Winter Palace.

 _Andraste preserve me._  She cleared her throat, her ears feeling extremely hot.  Meeting his eyes took some effort..  “I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head.  “I can't.  You must simply have a horrible taste in dance partners.”  

“Perhaps,” she said through a quiet laugh of her own, hoping she didn’t sound too nervous.  “At least I have a good taste in friends.”

* * *

 

Friends.  Cullen had never before felt so contented and yet so crushed.  Camaraderie.  Of course that was what she wanted.  It was what she needed right now.  Tonight in Halamshiral, victory belonged to the Inquisition but they still had so much to do, and time was running out.  Corypheus was still out there, planning to raise a demon army, and the incredible weight of that was on the Inquisitor’s shoulders.  She needed support from her friends, to help her carry that burden.

She didn’t need any distractions, which was the only thing he would give her if he continued to pursue.. whatever this foolish notion he had that he could be with her.  And that was only assuming that she felt the same way.  That alone felt ridiculous to him.  How could she feel anything for such a mess of a man?  The Inquisitor had her own demons to face; she didn’t need to battle his as well.  That was why she wanted to dance, wasn’t it?  She wanted help facing her demons?  And he wanted so badly to be that damned pillar…

What if he had tried to start something with her only to destroy the good rapport he spent months building with her?

Cullen let the corner of his lips pull up into a small smile, despite the turmoil he was feeling on the inside.  “I suppose I do as well,” he responded to her, and he felt his chest tightened as she returned his smile.

The song finished, and Cullen gingerly stepped away from the Inquisitor before giving her a low bow, as Orlais custom dictated whenever a dance came to a close.  When he rose, he clasped his hands behind his back, already missing the feeling of her encircled in his arms.  He quickly pushed the thought away.

The Inquisition was more important than anything right now and he felt a tinge of anger that he had allowed himself to forget that.  Neither of them could afford to be distracted, not at such a crucial time.  If the Inquisitor needed him as a friend, then that was what he would be.  And that would be enough.  He would move on from this momentary diversion and focus on his duty as Commander of the Inquisition.

The thought made that familiar sharp pain twist at the back of his eyes.  When he focused less on work and more on the Inquisitor, his headaches seemed to wane.  His mind seemed to react adversely now to his decision to bury himself in work again.. and to fight against his feelings for the Inquisitor.

He would endure.

 


	13. Another Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After witnessing Vivienne's love pass away right in front of her eyes, Ailla decides that she needs to tell Cullen how she feels before she doesn't get the chance to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I hoped you guys wouldn't hate me for the last chapter? Same goes for this one. Doubly-so, maybe. We're getting close, I promise... No Cullen POV in this one, sowwy. I couldn't find a good opening for it and I wanted to leave it where it ended. Also, if you guys have read my smutty one-shot, you'll catch an easter egg I through in, lol. Anyways, I still hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

“Varric, this is terrible.”

“Oh, I know.”

“And all of them are like this?”

“Yep.”

“I.. can’t believe Cassandra has read them all.”

“You’re telling me."

Ailla and Varric sat in the arm chairs in front of the large fireplace on the west side of the grand hall.  The room was emptying itself of people now that the sun was disappearing behind the mountains.  Ailla had in her lap the last installment of _Swords & Shields_, Varric’s romance serial that Cassandra seemed to so thoroughly enjoy.   She flipped to the next page and read on, her eyebrows slowly rising.  She was unable to stop the grin that spread across her lips as she snickered.  “Oh wait, I do like this line.  ‘Her chest rose and fell with her quickened breaths as she glanced down to marvel at his-’”

Varric waved his hands in the air, jerking his head to the side as a cringe contorted his face.  “Alright, alright, alright.  It’s bad enough that I wrote it.  I don’t need it read out loud.”

Ailla burst out laughing, shifting in her chair so her legs were tucked up onto the cushion, her ankles crossed at her side.  “If it’s any consolation, you have my gratitude.  I’m sure Cassandra will appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think your gratitude will pay for the materials,” he muttered but chuckled in good nature.  

She closed the book and handed it back to Varric, sitting back with a small sigh.  “I hope you’re not too sore about what happened.”  Cassandra and Varric had really gotten into it the other day and she had threatened to kick both of their arses if they didn't stop fighting.  They couldn't afford to fall apart on each other.  Hawke was there to help them now and that was all that mattered.

“Not really,” he replied, scratching the back of his head.  “She had her reasons.  Can’t say I agree with them but what can you do?  Say, there’s been something I’ve been dying to ask you, Your Inquisitorialness.”

“Oh yeah?  Go on.”

Varric shot Ailla a toothy smirk, “When are you going to make your move on Curly?”

Her eyes widened as she her cheeks filled with heat.  How could he have possibly known anything about that?  Dorian, Bull and Sera were the only people she talked to about Cullen and these stupid feelings she had for him.  “Who told you?” she asked, feeling flustered and upset, wondering if anyone else knew.

“You did, just now,” he said through a husky laugh.  He gave her a nonchalant shrug.  “I had a hunch so I decided to ask.”

Ailla had strolled right into his trap.  She shook her head at the dwarf, her lips pressed together in a tight line but a small smile tugged at the corner of them.  “Cassandra was right; you _are_ a conniving little shit, aren’t you?” she joked.

Varric laughed again.  “If I got a gold piece for every time I’ve been told that, I’d be a very rich man, Inquisitor.” His eyebrows rose expectantly.  “So…?”

She huffed, letting her head fall back against the chair.  “I don’t know.  Never?”

“Never, huh?”

Ailla had a growing suspicion that Cullen was avoiding her.  Ever since they had returned from the Winter Palace a couple of weeks ago, he was up to his eyeballs in paper work, which wasn’t anything new but their encounters were noticeably becoming less and less frequent.  

Cullen either kept himself busy with reports, or trained with the troops.  Usually, he would take the time to have a casual word with her but now he wasn’t giving her the time of day.  He couldn’t be found strolling around Skyhold or playing chess in the garden.  He didn’t even leave his office for meals.  The few times she had spoken to him were during war meetings where he seemed very short and excessively focused.  Ailla tried to rationalize his change in behavior; they did just foil Corypheus’ plan to assassinate the Empress thus making them one step closer to his defeat.  Of course the advancement of the Inquisition would demand the Commander’s attention.  

Yet, even Josephine had approached Ailla, asking if she knew what was going on with him.  If Ailla had done something wrong, she couldn’t say what it was.  She sighed in frustration. resting her head in her hands.  “I mean, I’ve thought about it, yeah.  We were dancing at the Winter Palace and I actually thought maybe.. maybe he’d be interested, you know?  But you should have seen his face, Varric.  It’s like, all of a sudden, the last thing he wanted to do was be near me.  I’m not sure what went wrong.  And since then, he’s been really good at keeping his distance.”

Varric stroked his chin thoughtfully before shrugging.  “Sounds like he’s just scared.”

“What, you think he’s interested?” she asked with a raise of her eyebrow.  She felt hope tighten at her chest and wanted to kick herself immediately for it.

He nodded with certainty.  “Indeed I do.  You may not see it when he looks, but he looks.”

“Um, ‘looks’?”

“Yep.  Looks.  Kinda like how _you_ look.  You know, when he has his back turned and he can’t see your eyes lingering on him, particularly on the arse area sometimes.”

Her ears warmed but she couldn’t deny what he was saying.  Ailla groaned, “Is it _that_ obvious?”  

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he shot back, chuckling.

 Apparently, she might as well have told everyone in Skyhold how nice she thinks the Commander's arse is.   “Okay, let me pretend for a second that I believe you.  If it’s so obvious, and he is in fact interested, then how come he hasn’t said anything?” Ailla averted her eyes to the fireplace, and she watched the flames dance around each other in crackling excitement.  Cullen really stared at her like that when she wasn’t looking?  She could feel her ears growing warmer as she wondered if he too had the same promiscuous thoughts that she had.

“Simple: the guy’s a bit daft when it comes to, well, people and when I say people, I mean not-soldiers.  When was the last time he sat down to have a drink?  Have you even seen him at Herald’s Rest?  It’s not his fault though.  He was a Templar before this; not a very social group.  Here’s my guess: he either hasn’t noticed or he doesn’t know how to approach it.”  Varric spoke with such confidence that Ailla felt inclined to agree with him entirely.  She mentally sifted through the list of encounters that she’d had with the Commander thus far and most of them involved the Inquisition, in some way or another - a subject he was comfortable with.  

But lately, their discussions had become a lot more personal, thanks to her.  He hugged her, danced with her even.  He had broken out of his Commander-hardened shell, just long enough to mend her broken spirits.  Maybe Varric was right.  Maybe he _was_ interested in her, and he just wasn’t seeing that she felt the same way.

Ailla could feel her hopes hastily climbing up an infinite ladder that disappeared into the clouds, and she tried desperately to tear it down.  She knew that eventually she would fall from the highest point and come crashing to the ground.  She shifted in her chair again and planted her feet on the floor, resting her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow against her knee.  “Ugh, Varric, what are you doing to me?”

The dwarf grinned at her.  “Just helping out a friend, Red.”  He turned up his chin for a moment in thought.  “How do you like ‘Red’ anyway?”

“Eh,” Ailla muttered with a wrinkle of her nose.  “A bit common, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I thought so.  Not the first time someone’s told me that.  Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

* * *

****  
  


Ailla was on the road to Val Royeaux with Vivienne, Dorian and Varric.  They had returned a few days ago from the Exalted Plains with the heart of a snowy wyvern.  The enchanter had refused to tell Ailla why she needed this particular item but now she was willing to show her.  Vivienne was surprised to see that Ailla had actually followed through with her request; she must have expected less from her.  Ailla was a bit surprised with herself as well; she wasn’t particular fond of the enchanter.  The woman placed herself on a bloody pedestal above other mages and was in absolute support of the Circle.  It all just seemed very pompous.  But Vivienne was helping the Inquisition nonetheless and Ailla wasn’t going to let personal squabbles keep her from returning that help.

The two of them hardly said a word to each other on the way to Val Royeaux, which Ailla was fine with; she preferred not to argue.  She was content to listen to the boys bet on who would claim victory in the end - her or Corypheus.

Once they had all arrived in Val Royeaux, they were kindly given housing in the estate of Duke Bastien de Ghyslain, a close friend of Vivienne’s.  Once they were settled in, they gathered into the foyer and an elven servant girl informed them that supper would be ready within the hour.

“Thank you, dear,” Vivienne said with a nod, though she seemed a bit distracted.  Ailla watched her carefully, feeling uncomfortable and even a little bit suspicious. Vivienne was _never_ distracted.  And yet the woman’s eyes continued to flicker anxiously to the top of the marble staircase that led up into a wide hallway.  Just as the servant girl bowed low and turned to leave, the enchanter hastily stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, “I must see him.”

The girl looked torn but seemed to decide quickly that she wasn't about to argue with the Imperial Enchanter.  "Of course, my lady.  Please, if you will follow me.”

Vivienne nodded to Ailla, indicating for her to follow.

“We’ll wait,” Dorian told them, and he and Varric wandered into the dining room.

They made their way up the long staircase and emerged into the hallway which was lined on either side with ornately chiseled doors stained in royal blue and vaulted windows framed with thick velvet curtains.  At the end of the hallway was a set of large double doors and the servant girl pushed them open, stepping aside to let them in before bowing and taking her leave.  

They walked into the bedroom that had to have belonged to the Duke himself.  The first thing Ailla noticed was how heavily decorated the room was.  Four large windows made up most of  the west wall and between each one were marble bases that held various golden statues.  A narrow rug made of red velvet ran across the middle of the floor, leading up to the three alabaster steps that created a dias at the end of the room, supporting a bed that could fit a family.  Ailla wondered briefly if every house in Val Royeaux looked like this.

Her attention was stolen by the thin sickly man that laid unmoving on the bed.  He had very little hair on his head, save for the greying strands above his ears.  His cheeks and eyes were sunken, like he hadn’t eaten in a very long time.

With a vial in hand, Vivienne slowly approached the bedside and spoke quietly to him, “I’m here, my darling.”

Ailla’s lips parted in revelation.  Vivenne’s request wasn’t at all for political gain like she had first led her to believe, and this man was much more than just a friend.

The enchanter bent down and brought the vial to the duke’s lips, slowly pouring the thick liquid into his mouth.  Ailla watched as it dripped from the side of lips as he struggled to swallow.  Vivienne gently stroked his head, her eyes searching his face - eyes that were normally so cold and calculating now showing hints of desperation and melancholy.

“Vivienne…?” the duke rasped, his eyes fluttering open to look at her.  He reached for her with a trembling hand.

The hope in Vivienne’s voice made Ailla’s stomach turn, “Yes, darling?”

“It’s going to be alright, my love,” he whispered, before sighing out one last breath, his hand falling limply to the mattress beside him.  

Ailla clenched her jaw as her gaze flickered over to Vivienne.  The pain in her eyes was immeasurable.  The enchanter’s lips parted as if to say something but they instead quivered under the incredible weight of the reality that was laid out in front of her.  Whatever she had to say, he wouldn’t hear it.  Ailla was all too familiar with the loss of a loved one but this was a pain she didn’t know as well - the loss of a lover, a companion, a beloved.  “Vivienne..” Ailla said quietly, taking a step toward her.  “I’m sorry.”

Vivienne closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself and taking a deep breath into her nose.  When she opened her eyes, they were once again cold, as if she had found the flame of anguish inside of her heart and snuffed it out.  She straightened her back and faced Ailla, standing with the same impeccable posture that one expected of an Imperial Enchanter.  “Do not apologize, Inquisitor.  He died knowing that I loved him dearly, with all of my heart.  In times like these, that is all one can really ask for.  Come, dear.  There’s nothing here now.”

* * *

The ride back to Skyhold was rough and it had nothing to do with the terrain on which they travelled or the environment that surrounded them.  It instead had everything to do with the war that was waging inside of Ailla's minds.  The world seemed discontent in allowing her to bury these feelings she had for Cullen.  Dorian and Sera wouldn’t stop pestering her and apparently Varric was on board with them as well.  What had Varric said?   _“Just helping out a friend.”_  Why were they all so sure that this was a good idea?  

Ailla had never been romantically involved with someone, nothing beyond a quick lay.  Even if Cullen did feel the same way, the entire thing could end in disaster and the Inquisition couldn’t afford that kind of animosity.

But these feelings were unyielding.  Whenever she thought about his arms wrapped tightly around her or how close they were to each other when they danced, she felt a tingle on her skin from where their bodies had touched.  The way that he regarded her with those warm golden eyes made everything else around her melt away, leaving him as the only thing in the world that demanded her attention.  

...And now he was avoiding her for some reason or another and it made her feel angry and sad and anxious all at once.  It was driving her insane.  She felt aggravated at how much she was allowing this to affect her mental state; he was just another person, right?  Another man?  What made him any different than Dorian, Varric or Blackwall?  

Other than the fact that he managed to strengthen her as person by challenging her at every turn?  Or how he was able to share his courage and confidence with her, even when she never once asked that of him?  Or that he always seemed to be invested in making sure that she was alright?  

Okay, so there were plenty of things that set him apart from everyone else.  And she cared about him too, more than she ever expected to care about anyone after Marly.  If anything ever happened to him…

_He died knowing that I loved him dearly, with all of my heart._

Ailla felt her chest clamp around her heart.  

_In times like these, that is all one can really ask for._

The enchanter had been incredibly resilient with the death of her lover.  That was much more than Ailla could say about how she handled Marly’s death.  She had assumed that Vivienne was just being Vivienne.  But could it be that she truly felt so at peace simply knowing that Bastien knew how she felt about him?  

Ailla didn’t love Cullen.  It was much too soon to tell or even consider that but whatever she felt was real.  Ailla walked into the path of danger every single day; sure, she was skilled but she owed much of her survival to luck and her companions.  One wrong move and she could be dead, and dying with these feelings twisting at her insides wasn’t okay with her.  And with Cullen suffering through withdrawal, something that could very well kill him at any time, it didn’t look like either of them were guaranteed very long lives.

She had to say something to him.  Even if things went horribly wrong, she needed to tell him how she felt before she no longer had the chance.  Who knows?  Maybe - just maybe...

“Ailla, are you alright?”

She blinked, giving her head a quick shake before glancing over at Dorian.

“You’ve been making the most darling facial expression for the last ten minutes,” he mused.  He rose his eyebrows suggestively as he smirked at her.  “Thinking about our dear Commander, are you?”

Normally, she would have been sour at him for saying that in front of Vivienne but at the moment she didn’t care.  She had one thing on her mind and that was talking to Cullen.  “Yes,” she replied with confidence, her chest filling with both hope and anxiety.  “Yes, I am, and we need to haul arse back to Skyhold right this instant, Dorian.”  He looked taken aback, and exchanged his look of surprise with Varric.  Ailla turned to Vivienne then, “Vivienne?”

“Yes, dear?” The enchanter’s tone was cool as usual but it carried a hint of curiosity.

“Thank you.”  

* * *

Cullen wasn’t in his office when Ailla came by to speak to him.   _You choose now not to be in your office?  Seriously?_

She sighed heavily, clasping her hands behind her head and staring up at the broken ceiling, the sun’s rays shining through the cracks.  She began absentmindedly pacing around his desk.  A thousand things were running through her mind, one of which was her trying to figure out what she would say to him.  Should she keep it simple? _I want to be with you._  Or was that not enough?   _I have not been able to stop thinking about you and I want more out of whatever we have right now.  I care about you and after this whole thing is over, maybe we could really become something._  Was that too much?  

Ailla groaned, letting her shoulders slump and her head hang down as she leaned forward against his desk, which held a pile of scattered reports.  She began to sift through them, thinking that she might as well get an idea of the Inquisition’s status while she waited for him to return.  Most of it was incoming reports from his scouts around various locations in Fereldan, others were outgoing orders written by Cullen to be delivered later.  Little to no activity in the Hinterlands, plentiful resources to fill requisitions on the Storm Coast, a letter for Cullen’s sister…

_A letter for Cullen’s sister?_

She stared at the piece of parchment, immediately recognizing Cullen’s tidy penmanship.  Ailla didn’t even know he had a sister; he never spoke of his family.  She chewed at her bottom lip, knowing that it would be wrong for her to read it, no matter how curious she felt.  But just as she was about to set the letter down and move on to the next report, her eyes widened as they caught a glimpse of one word - _Inquisitor._

Okay, now it was her business.  

_Dearest Sister,_

_I am safe, no need to worry._

_And now that I have time to write you, all you want to talk about is my love life?  Honestly, Mia, that is so very typical of you.  I am sorry to say this but I have already decided that my feelings for the Inquisitor will not get in the way of my duty here.  There is nothing more important right now than the Inquisition.  Now stop prying._

_I do not regret leaving the Order either.  My purpose is here now, with the Inquisition.  Please let everyone know that I am fine._

_I am glad to know that you are well._

_Love, Cullen_

Ailla wasn’t sure how long she stood there, clutching the letter. _..my feelings for the Inquisitor.. my feelings for the Inquisitor.. my feelings for the Inquisitor._  She read the words over and over again, wishing they would stop there, or continue in a different manner.   _..will not get in the way of my duty here_.

There it was - the leg that would kick the ladder right out from under her and send her careening to the ground below.

“There is nothing more important right now than the Inquisition,” she whispered before pressing her lips together and clenching her jaw.

Ailla slipped the letter under a few random reports, trying to hide any evidence that someone had gone through them.  Hopefully he wouldn’t notice.  She slowly backed away from his desk, feeling dazed, before fleeing his office.  Her emotions were at war again, and she wasn’t about to fight with them in a place where his scent filled her nostrils each time she breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think what worried me the most about this chapter was Cullen's letter. I know that in the game, his letter to Mia was very short but I really like to think that those two were very close when they were younger, like, closer than his other siblings were. With that being said, I didn't think the two of them talking about his love life was too much of a stretch. Still, hope you guys enjoyed it, and thanks for sticking with me for this long! :) Much more to come!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	14. A Little Bit of Perserverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's withdrawal symptoms are becoming too much for him to handle, and Ailla is resolved to convince him to remain Commander of the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something tells me.. that you guys might really like this chapter.. Might make up for the last two, actually. Seriously though, I hope you guys do like it. I combined a couple of scenes together, and you'll see what I mean later, and the chapter jumps around a lot again but I think the sequencing smooths it out a bit. Anyways, let me know what you think! Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Cullen needed to speak with Cassandra immediately.  The pain was wracking his entire body and he hadn’t even done anything to exert himself all day.  He was hardly able to get through his reports.  He sat at his desk, head in his hands, as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the pain at bay.  It only worsened, making his stomach twist in anger.  He should have been stronger than this; the withdrawal was not supposed to interfere with the Inquisition.  But he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.  Now the Inquisition would be without a Commander for Maker knows how long and it would be due to his weakness.

With some effort, he continued to sift through his reports and came across yet another letter from Mia.  She didn’t take her time writing back, apparently.  He imagined her reading his letter, severely disapproving, and hurriedly gathering a piece of parchment and a quill so she could tell him how stupid he was being.

She did not disappoint.

_Cullen,_

_I am so sorry that I dropped you on your head when you were little.  It’s the only thing that explains why you are acting like such a fool right now!  Tell her how you feel.  Trust me.  It takes more energy to hold something like this in than to let it out, and you are going to need all of the energy that you can muster, little brother._

_We are all pleased to know that you are alright.  As always, stay safe and don’t you dare stop writing to us!_

_Your loving sister,_

_Mia_

He shook his head, sighing heavily.  She was right, of course.  He spent a good chunk of his mental strength steering his thoughts away from the Inquisitor so he could focus fully on his work.  But it wasn’t as if that mattered now.  He was always in pain, whether it was sharp and immediate or dull and creeping.  Overworking himself like this didn’t help but the agony was still present nonetheless, and it would only become worse.  

As soon as Cassandra returned with the Inquisitor from the Forbidden Oasis, he would resign.

* * *

 

“I fucking hate the desert,” Ailla muttered as they passed through the gates of Skyhold.  She hadn’t been able to bathe since before they travelled to the Forbidden Oasis and there were sand in places where it really shouldn’t be.  

“I know the feeling.” Cassandra walked sluggishly beside her, her face browned by a thin layer of dried sand and dirt.

Dorian brushed at his shoulder, which the style of his garments left exposed.  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” he commented, “It’s turned my skin a nice golden brown.  Lovely, isn’t it?”

Ailla chuckled through a grin, shaking her head.  A low drawn-out yawn overtook her and she gave her arms and back long stretch, letting her aching joints pop.  “Well, I’m gonna…” she started but her voice trailed away as her gaze found the wall tower that housed Cullen’s office.  She sighed, feeling her heart sink into her stomach, “...take a bath or something.”

She headed toward the staircase leading up to the grand hall where her quarters were.  Cassandra might have misjudged the out-of-earshot distance because Ailla heard her ask quietly, “Is she alright?”

When she didn’t overhear an answer, she could only imagine Dorian shaking his head.  The two of them had found themselves in a surprisingly loud and heated argument a week ago.

“Let me get this straight, Trevelyan.” Dorian’s tone had been thick with disbelief as he paced back and forth among the bookshelves and dusty tables.  They occupied the library early the next morning after Ailla had found Cullen’s letter to his sister.  “You found undeniable proof that the Commander has feelings for you, the same bloody feelings you have for him, and you are going to say _nothing_?”

Ailla sat in Dorian’s usual armchair by the window, one of her legs tucked up onto the seat and her chin resting on her knee.  Her gaze remained glued to the mountains she could see right outside of the window.  “Right.”

“Dear Maker, you can’t be serious.  Why?  Why wouldn’t you talk to him about this?  I thought you wanted to be with him.”

His voice had risen and Ailla felt her eye twitch in annoyance as she shot Dorian an icy glare.  “Why does it _matter_ to you anyway?  Just leave it alone, Dorian!  Leave _me_ alone."

He blinked, looking both hurt and taken aback, and Ailla immediately felt a pang of remorse.  She sighed, glancing out of the window again, not prepared to apologize for it.  Dorian released an irritated sigh through his teeth as he strode over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, “Must you ask why I care so much?  Ailla, you are the only true friend I have ever had.  Is it so unusual that I want you to be happy?”

For a moment, her heart swelled with affection for the man.  Cullen may be the one who knew her dark secrets but she couldn't very well complain to him about Cullen-related things.  Ailla and Dorian seemed to just click together in terms of close friendship.  She wondered briefly if it was due to their shared cynicism.  Ailla sighed deeply, giving Dorian an apologetic look but trying to sound firm all the same, "I do not need to be with Cullen to be happy.  I _am_ happy, for the most part.  I've got you and Varric and everyone else.  Joining the Inquisition was the best decision I have ever made in my entire life.  And Cullen.. well, he's still my friend, right?  I'll move on from this."

"That's what I don't understand," Dorian said, frowning.  "Why do you need to move on?  Why not give this a chance?  Think of everything you have done for the Inquisition, how many lives you have saved, and will continue to save.  You may not need the Commander to be happy but don't you think for one second that you don't deserve every bit of happiness that presents itself to you."

There was a time when mere words could not penetrate the walls that Ailla built around herself after the news of Marly's death.  But everyone seemed to have taken part in chipping away at the cold stone until there was nothing left but dust and rubble.  Cullen had practically burst through her defenses with a battering ram.  So when Dorian stood before her, declaring his friendship and wishing her every happiness, it was no wonder why the tears glossed over her eyes as she stared up at him.  She blinked them back, pursing her lips.  She was utterly grateful for him but his words only reminded her of the bitter truth.

"Look, Dorian," Ailla muttered, sniffling as she rested her chin upon her knee again, "I get that he has feelings for me but they don't mean anything when he doesn't want them.  And he has made it very clear that he.. does not want them.  'There is nothing more important right now than the Inquisition,' remember?  What kind of person would I be if I pursued this, knowing full well that it isn’t what he wants?  I will not take advantage of him like that."

Dorian opened his mouth to counter her but instead pressed his lips together, finally understanding, looking defeated.  He let his shoulders slump, breathing out a short sigh through his nostrils.  "I am sorry, Ailla."

"Yeah, well.. So am I."

Now, Ailla absentmindedly went through the motions of bathing herself and getting dressed for the day.  They had arrived back at Skyhold in the late morning and she imagined that the day would be filled with war briefings and training exercises.  Hopefully by nightfall, she would have time to relax, have a few drinks, maybe read a bit, before plunging into the darkness of slumber.

Ailla and her advisors spent a few hours in the war room discussing their next move.  Hawke had given them a lead on the Grey Wardens that her advisors wanted her to pursue, now that they had successfully stopped the assassination of the empress.  Ailla was to meet Hawke’s warden friend Alistair in Crestwood for further leads on Corypheus.  

“Before making the journey to Crestwood, I suggest going to the Emerald Graves first,” Cullen said, sliding a marker into a particularly green portion of the map, a thick woodland area that stretched on past the edge of the old parchment.  “We were able to intercept communication between Samson and the Red Templars.  We haven’t yet acquired any information on where they are getting their red lyrium but if we can find more of these letters, then we may be able to cut out their source.”

Ailla nodded, knowing they couldn’t lose the momentum they gained from stopping Celene’s assassination.  Destroying their source of lyrium would cripple the Red Templars and ultimately Corypheus.  If they had any hopes of winning this war, they needed to be relentless.  “Emerald Graves, it is.”  

She glanced up at Cullen and watched him crane his neck before rubbing a hand against the back of it.  His expression was hard, as if trying to hide the pain that threatened to contort his face.  When they’re eyes suddenly met, she quickly averted her gaze, and cursed herself internally for it.  Their period of silence with one another had only lengthened after she happened upon the letter to his sister.  As far as she could tell, he didn’t suspect anything but he still seemed to be avoiding her.  Even though she understood his reasons now, she couldn’t help but feel bitter about it.  No, they didn’t have to be together but did that mean they couldn’t even be friends?  Could they simply not.. talk to each other?  

Perhaps not.  Maybe this way was better.

“Anyway,” Ailla breathed out heavily, “I guess we’re done here for today.  I’ll set out for the Emerald Graves tomorrow morning, see what I can find.”

She turned to leave but stopped when Leliana spoke up, “Already?  You’ve only just returned from the Forbidden Oasis.”

Beside her, Morrigan nodded, “It may be prudent for you to rest, Inquisitor.  The Emerald Graves is not easy terrain to navigate.”

Ailla shook her head, waving her hand dismissively as she walked toward the doors to leave.  Getting as far away from Cullen as possible seemed like the best option if he thought he couldn’t even talk to her.  Maybe continued distance would help her get over this quicker - the same could be said for him.  WIth that in mind, she tried not to feel too upset with him, but it was difficult.  “I’ll be fine.  I’m of more use out there than I am here.”

“That’s not true.”

Her hand was on the door, ready to push it open when Cullen spoke.  She stopped and turned her head but kept her eyes on the ground, preferring not to look at him.  Was she being childish?  Probably.  

“Your presence here lifts the spirits of every soldier fighting for you,” he went on, sounding confident as usual, “Each time you return to Skyhold, they are reminded of your resilience, that you’ve become an unstoppable force.  You give them hope.  Don’t discredit yourself so easily.”

Ailla turned her head away so he couldn’t see her chewing on her bottom lip.  She didn’t understand this man.  He avoided her for nearly a month, only ever discussing Inquisition matters at the war table, and now he saw fit to give her praise?  Maybe it was just what a Commander said to his Inquisitor.  She cleared her throat, her voice quiet when she responded, “Thank you, Commander.”

And with that, she left, feeling annoyed at both herself and with Cullen.

* * *

 

Okay, that stung.  She hadn’t called him “Commander” in a very long time, not since they’d arrived at Skyhold.  He breathed out a slow, deep sigh out of his mouth, rubbing at his temples.  Thank the Maker this war meeting was over.  Now he could speak with Cassandra about getting a replacement for him.  His stomach twisted painfully again.  He was giving up, and the thought ate at him from the inside.  But it was for the best, for everyone.  The Inquisition could not afford a Commander who was always nearly crippled with pain.  It deserved better.

She deserved better.

But what was he giving her now?  He hadn’t spoken to her in nearly a month.  He could see why she was acting a bit cold toward him.  There she was, a woman who had trusted him enough to confess her darkest secrets to him, and he was ignoring her.  And for what - because he couldn’t handle these feelings he had for her?  What was the matter with him?  Hadn’t he decided that he was going to be a friend to her, at the very least?  Wasn’t that how she saw him, what she needed?

“So.. when are you going to talk to her?”

Cullen blinked and glanced over at Josephine who rose an expectant eyebrow at him.  “What do you mean?”

She exchanged a glance with Leliana and Cullen turned to look at the Spymaster to see that she was smirking.  She shrugged, “Oh, it’s nothing, Commander.  Josie and I just have a small bet going, you see.”  Her smirk widened as she stared past him at Josephine.  “And I’ve been cleaning her out for weeks.”

“It’s sad, really,” Josephine said with a huff, “I was sure you and the Inquisitor would become an item much sooner than this.”

Cullen’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help the blush that filled his cheeks. “I.. I’m not sure what you..”  He sighed, giving up on feigning ignorance.  There was no use in hiding anything from their Spymaster.  “..Maker’s breath.”

Morrigan gave a low chuckle.  “I would be interested to know who ultimately wins that bet.  Farewell for now.”

He watched Morrigan leave, feeling far too embarrassed to look at either of his fellow advisors.  It was that obvious, was it?  Did the Inquisitor know anything?  Cullen shook his head.  There were more important matters to worry about.  He squared his shoulders and made his way around the war table, his hands on the hilt of his sword.  “I would stop betting now if I were you, Josephine,” he muttered as he pushed the door open.  “It isn’t going to happen.”

 

* * *

 

Ailla’s daggers clanged loudly against Ser Rylen’s shield as she struck at him relentlessly.  He wasn’t as fast as Cullen was, that was for sure, and she realized that from the beginning of their spar.  There were a couple of opportunities that she had to disarm him but she didn’t taken them.  It was much more satisfying taking her frustrations out on a live, moving target than a stationary dummy.

“I’m.. not sure what I’ve done.. to incite your anger.. Inquisitor,” Rylen grunted, parrying away one of her thrusts and blocking another.

“It’s.. not you.. Ser Rylen,” she muttered, jumping back to avoid the swing of his blade.

“In any case…”

Ailla cried out, his shield smacking against her hand and knocking her dagger right out of it.  Before she could even recover from the blow, he had his blade against neck, the steel ice cold against her skin.  She scowled, sighing through her teeth.

“It’s not wise to fight angry, Inquisitor,” he finished with a small smile.  He sheathed his blade and gave her a low bow before moving on to his next sparring partner.  

She stood there with her hands on her hips, huffing out a sigh that made her cheeks puff.  It wasn’t right for her to be angry at Cullen.  It wasn’t like he was obligated to talk to her.  And he was right, wasn’t he?  If he thought that the Inquisition was more important than how he felt, then who was she to argue?  

Ailla scooped up her dagger and touched her thumb to the point of the blade.  Blunt.  If it didn’t prick her skin upon even the slightest contact, then it wasn’t sharp enough for her.  She sheathed both of her daggers and headed to the armory, nodding in encouragement to the soldiers she passed by.  As she approached the large wooden door to the armory, voices within grew louder.  

“You asked for my opinion and I’ve given it.  Why would you expect it to change?”

That was Cassandra.  Her voice was firm, a little irritated as well.  Who was she talking to?

“I expect you to keep your word.”  Cullen? “It’s relentless  I can’t-”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

“If I am unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this.  Would you rather save face then admit-”

Ailla opened the door then, knowing that she shouldn’t eavesdrop.  As soon as she walked in, she wished she would have turned around instead and come back later.  The tension was thick, and she could cut through it with one of her blunt blades.  They both turned to look at her and she felt shocked at the blatant despair on Cullen’s face.

He made his way to the door, meeting her gaze only briefly to show his immense regret.  "Forgive me," he whispered, his face contorting in pain, something her eyes caught before he turned away from her.

Cassandra folded her arms across her chest, scowling.  “And people say I’m stubborn  This is ridiculous.”

* * *

 

Cullen stared down at the lyrium kit, feeling more furious with himself the longer it was in his sights.  Why couldn’t Cassandra see that he was nothing but a hindrance?  He gave into the rage.  There was no reason to hold it back now.  He picked up the wood box and hurtled it at the door, crying out his fury.  It crashed into the stone wall and splintered into pieces.  He heard the remaining intact vials shatter against the ground.

What he didn’t expect to see was the Inquisitor standing in the doorway to his office just as the he had thrown the box in her direction.

“Maker’s breath!” he gasped, “I didn’t hear you enter.  I…” he sighed, unsure if he had the energy to explain his outburst.  His voice shook as he spoke, “Forgive me.”  Hesitantly, he met her eyes and all he could see was worry.   _Damn it, no.  She doesn’t need this right now._

“Cullen, if you need to talk…” she offered, taking a step closer to him.  

He made his way slowly around his desk.  Maker, he was nearly limping. “You don’t have to-”  White hot pain shot down his spine, making him stagger forward.  He grunted as he caught himself on the edge of desk.  This was humiliating.  He needed to be strong for her and yet there he was, a pile of anguished nerves.  He made an attempt to steady his voice, “I never meant for this to interfere.”

The Inquisitor closed most of the distance between them so they were only a few feet apart.  Her eyebrows knitted together, eyes searching his face.  “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes…” That was a lie.  “I don’t know.”  It took some effort but Cullen straightened himself up, leveling his weary gaze with hers.  “You asked me once what happened to Ferelden’s Circle.”  It was in passing conversation, and at the time, he preferred not to speak of it.  He never preferred to speak of it.  But now, he was going to reveal to his secrets just like she had hers.  Maybe then, she would see why he was not fit for his position.  As much as it made him sick to give into this, it was what was best for the Inquisition.

As he went on, he couldn’t help the venom that seeped from his tongue.  “It was taken over by abominations.  The Templars - _my friends_ \- were slaughtered.”  Cullen turned away from her and stood by the window, looking out on the mountains.  He couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore.  Is this how she felt - showing a side of her that she didn’t want anyone to see?  “I was tortured.  They tried to break my mind and I…” he released a short laugh, a terse sound of hysteria, “How can you be the same person after that?”

The disappointment felt more crushing with every word he spoke.  He risked a glance at her, seeing none of that disappointment on her face.  Only worry, fear maybe.  She should be worried.  She should fear what his weakness would do to the Inquisition.  But that wasn’t the case.  In her eyes, he could see that the worry and fear were for him, and him alone.  He watched her as she clenched her jaw, trying to hide what might have been shock from what he was telling her.

“Still,” he said through his teeth, “I wanted to serve.  They sent me to Kirkwall.  I trusted my Knight-Commander and for what, hmm?  Her fear of mages ended in madness.  Kirkwall’s Circle fell.  Innocent people died in the streets.”  Cullen turned to meet her gaze now.  “Can’t you see why I want _nothing_ more to do with that life?”

“Of course I can.  I-”

“Don’t!” he nearly spat.  Her sympathy twisted his stomach into impossible knots.  Couldn’t she _see_ what was wrong?  “You should be questioning what I’ve done.”

Cullen began to pace, despite his tortured legs, letting the pain fuel his anger.  “I thought this would be better - that I would regain some control over my life _but these thoughts won’t leave me_.  How many lives depend on our success?”  He was talking to himself now as much as he was to her.  “I swore myself to this cause.  I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry.  I should be taking it!”  

While he couldn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, he let the rage take over his body.  He threw a fist into one of the bookshelves, causing a few books to clatter to the floor.  “I should be taking it,” he whispered.  Cullen refused to look at her.  He couldn’t bare to see how she was reacting to this egregious behavior.

He hadn’t expected the Inquisitor to walk up to him and place a hand on his cheek.  He froze, the gentleness of her touch completely alien to him.  She gingerly turned his head so he would look at her, and he saw that her eyes were searching his face again, her lips pressed tightly together.  Maker, they were so close.  Her scent filled his nostrils, sending his heartbeat fluttering to higher speeds.  He couldn’t help his eyes flickering briefly to her lips and an intense longing filled his chest. As if the pain wasn’t enough to endure...

“Forget about the Inquisition,” she said softly,  “Don’t think about me or Cassandra or anyone else.  Just think about you.  Is this what _you_ want?”

What she was asking of him was impossible.  How could he not think about the lives that hung in the balance?  But her eyes demanded an answer, the truth and nothing less.  He expected to see judgement in them but instead saw patience.  Cullen sighed, letting his fist slowly fall away from the bookshelf.  “No,” he muttered, straightening up.  

“I didn’t think so,” she whispered.  She seemed satisfied with his answer.  The Inquisitor.. she believed in him.  She truly thought he would see this through.  

Cullen couldn’t help the scowl that formed from his lips as another wave of pain shot into his nerves, causing his muscles to spasm.  He staggered into her, and he felt her hand push against his chest to support him, her other hand on his waist.  He tried not to put too much of his weight against her but as he squeezed his eyes shut, he found himself resting his head against her shoulder.  The Inquisitor lifted her hand from his waist and brought it to the back of his head, stroking it into his hair, just like he had done for her.

It was comforting.  Her touch wasn't magic; it didn't lessen the pain but it was still comforting.  "I can't do this." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.  The agony squeezed the words out of his heart and forced them up into his throat until they continue spill out of him.  "I can't endure.  I thought I could but.. Maker, I am so sorry..  Inquisitor, I.."

Cullen felt her hands on either side of his face then and she gently lifted his head so they could look at each other.  He pressed his lips together, seeing the fierceness in her eyes, the determination he admired.  “You can,” she said slowly, firmly.  “You _will_ endure this, Cullen.  I will not replace you, and you are not going anywhere.  You are my commander, my advisor, and my friend.  We will get through this - together.”

His chest tightened with doubt.  Maker, what was the matter with him?  Not only was she showing him a kindness that he didn’t deserve but she was also being incredibly compassionate.  If he ever questioned whether or not the Inquisitor cared about him, he didn’t anymore.  Cullen tried to draw strength from her words and undying volition, from her gentle touch and the warmth of her palms against his cheeks.  

It helped, but his doubt in himself was strong and unyielding, and he loathed himself for it.

He found that his heart was still pounding inside of his chest and he realized then that she hadn’t yet stepped away from him.  She remained close, her hands still on his face, her thumb stroking gently at his cheekbone.  He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise from the chill that travel up his spine.  Having her this close.. he could stand here forever.  The way she was looking at him made his heart ache with that same intense longing.  

“These memories have always haunted me,” he muttered, trying to ignore the heat that was filling his cheeks, something she undoubtedly felt.  “If they become worse.. if I cannot endure this..”

"Cullen," she sighed, letting her hands fall from his face to rest against his chest.  She cast her gaze downward and when she spoke again, there was undeniable sadness in her voice, "I won't ask you to take lyrium.  Even though I'm afraid of you dying or going mad, I can't do that to you. But.. I can't imagine fighting this battle - _winning this war_ \- without you."

Cullen could hear his heart hammering in his ears as she stepped even closer to him, lifting her head now so she could look up at him.  Her warm breath brushed against his skin each time she exhaled, and he swallowed nervously at the lack of distance there was between their faces.  He kept his arms awkwardly at his sides, not knowing what to do with them.  What she was saying.. was he that important to her?  

“I need you by my side when all of this is over, and for every moment until then.”  

The Inquisitor didn’t give him time to respond, or even register what she said.  She pressed her lips against his, sealing in any words he might have had in return.

* * *

 

Ailla had clearly lost her mind; seeing him in so much pain was driving her insane.  A part of her just wanted to shove a vial of lyrium down his throat and make it stop.  She tried with all of her might to remain calm, to be strong for him and not show fear but her resolve had quickly crumbled under the weight of his anguish.  

He wasn’t going to take lyrium again - fine.  She truly didn’t want him to either.  But because of that, his pain was so immense that he’d convinced himself that he was no longer any use to the Inquisition.  He wanted to step down and have her find a replacement, and that was not going to happen.  The future looked bleak enough already and the thought of having to face Corypheus without him just made everything look dark.  Ailla could still sense his doubt, even after saying all she could to convince him otherwise.  Cassandra had thought that if anyone could change his mind, it was Ailla.  Maybe she was wrong.  

Or maybe Ailla just wasn't trying hard enough.

She finally gave into the insanity that invaded her mind.  Despite all of her previous reservations, she decided to _show_ him just how much she needed him, how much she believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself.

Ailla vaulted up on her toes and kissed him, her face warming instantly as their lips connected.  She found it hard to regret her actions when he reacted so quickly - and in the best way possible. Taking only a few seconds to absorb what she'd done, he pushed his lips hard into hers as he wrapped an arm around her waist, his other arm around her upper back.  He pulled her flush against him, nearly lifting her off of her feet.  

She felt lighter, like she could breathe again, as a crushing weight was lifted off of her.  She didn’t realize until now how exhausting it was, holding these feelings in.  Now they were bursting out of her, like rushing waters breaking through a old, worn dam.  Ailla pulled her lips away only to come up for air before she gladly drowned herself in him again.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the heat begin to rise beneath her skin.  

Cullen’s breathing mimicked hers - heavy and sultry, stolen right out of their lungs each time their lips joined together. Ailla's heart was slamming hard inside of her chest and she wondered briefly if his was doing the same.  Feeling bolder, she took his bottom lip between her teeth before flicking her tongue against it.

A low groan vibrated deep from his chest, and her entire body shuddered at the sound, an intense heat flaring inside of her stomach, burning into her chest.  She kissed him fiercely, taking a handful of his hair in between her fingers so she could pull his lips even harder into hers.  Cullen leaned against her, returning her fervor, making her stumbled backwards into his desk.  

The door to his office creaked open and Cullen jumped away from her.  She would have done the same but she would have ended up _on_ his desk, and that would have looked even worse.  Thankfully, the scout who walked in had his head down, reading through the report he was about to turn in.  “Commander, you wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

Ailla’s rapid heartbeat hadn’t slowed and she tried hard to steady her breathing, inhaling and exhaling evenly through her nose.  She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the edge of his desk in an attempt to look casual, though it only made her feel more embarrassed.  She glanced up at Cullen who was straightening his hair, and she pursed her lips together to keep from grinning.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, trying not to sound out of breath.  He took the report from the scout and muttered a quick, “Carry on.”

The scout brought a fist to his chest in a salute before taking his leave.

Cullen set the report down on his desk before placing his hands on his sword’s hilt, hesitantly meeting Ailla’s gaze.  His face was still flushed, likely mirroring her own, and his expression was flustered, uncertain.  Ailla feared for a moment that he would regret what just happened.  She didn’t think she even processed it herself.

But he gave her a small smile, his eyes warming.  “I suppose this changes things, doesn’t it?”

She felt an immense relief wash over her but couldn’t help the thoughts that buzzed around her head.  Did she do the right thing?  Was it selfish?  Was this what he wanted?  She pushed them away, deciding to deal with any consequences later.  

The corner of Ailla lips pulled up into a small smile of her own.  “Maybe a little bit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that happened. Finally, right?! Please let me know what you think. I'm hoping it wasn't too fast or sudden but it if it was, your critique is appreciated! Thank you so much for reading! And again, thanks for sticking with me! :)
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	15. The Truth and Lies of Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is concerned about the rumors floating around Skyhold about the Inquisitor. An unexpected letter arrives for Ailla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was really fun writing the development of their relationship but now it's on to the relationship itself! I'm sorry if my ideas here seem a bit.. scattered. I've found that writing the actual relationship is going to be a challenge but I'm ready to take it on! I'm also going to be focusing a lot on Ailla now and keep her story interesting, with Cullen close by her side. :) I also threw in a bit of a cameo scene and change it up a bit. Hope you like it!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading, and any feedback and critique you have is greatly appreciate!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!

Cullen made his way to the armory.  Lieutenant Derring had passed along a message to him stating that the blacksmith had just finished a new selection of swords to be viewed at his convenience.  It was a welcomed respite from the endless paperwork, and it was about time he got himself a new blade.  

He found that the door to the armory was already opened and as he approached it, the voices from inside grew more audible.

“I heard it from a scout.”

“The Inquisitor and the Commander?”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed and he stopped just outside of the door, leaning against the wall beside it with his arms folded across his chest.  He knew gossip spread fast but he wasn’t expecting it this fast.  The day after his.. encounter with the Inquisitor, he had gone with her to the gates of Skyhold to see her off to the Emerald Graves.

Cassandra and the others had gone ahead while the Inquisitor stayed behind with Cullen to bid him farewell.  

“You look worried,” she commented.  The Inquisitor stood before him, holding on to the reigns of her horse as she stroked at its mane

“For you?  I’m always worried, Inquisitor,” he told her.  He hated to see her go, especially now when their relationship had just taken such an abrupt turn.   

She patted the side of her steed’s neck before turning to face him, rubbing a hand against the side of his upper arm.  He was still unused to her fond touch but he welcomed it nonetheless.  “I’ll be back before you know it.  Maybe then, we could find some time.  Together, I mean.”  She glanced away, looking slightly embarrassed.  She seemed just as unaccustomed to their situation as he was.  

Cullen tried to give her an encouraging smile, taking her hand gently in between his.  “I would like that.  Hurry back.”

Her face soften then as she returned his smile.  “Until then.”

Cullen had watched her until she was out of sight, already wanting her back at his side.

In the armory, he recognized a voice belonging to one of the recruits.  There were two others with him, younger men from the sounds of it.

“The Commander too, aye?  Isn’t she with that Tevinter mage who stays cooped up in the library all the time?”

“I hear differently.  She and Iron Bull have something going on.”

“Maybe all three.  Who’s next?  That Blackwall fellow?  Maybe I should have a go at her one of these days.”

“It’d be easy enough, yeah?”

Laughter followed, and Cullen’s lips twisted into a deep scowl as the heat of indignation quickly began to boil the blood in his veins.  With all of the rumors flying around, the Inquisitor’s personal life was a complete mystery when it came to who she spent her nights with, if with anyone at all.  But that wasn’t what was really bothering Cullen at the moment.  He wasn’t about to stand there and listen to shameless urchins talk about the Inquisitor like she was just some mount to be ridden at their leisure.

“You think the Commander would-”

That was his queue.  He lumbered into the armory, hands resting on the hilt of his sword, his boots falling heavily against the stone floor.  The three men stood in front of a long wooden table that sat flush against the wall.  On the table were the newly-crafted blades that the Lieutenant had informed him of, lined neatly together across the surface.  The recruits raised their heads to see who had entered and looked upon their Commander with horror.

“Commander!” they all sputtered, turning to face him before saluting.

Cullen’s hard gaze bored into theirs as he looked each of them in the eyes one by one.  He spoke slowly and deliberately, his voice low with warning, “Do you think the Commander would _what_?”

They exchanged frantic glances before one of them spoke up, “Ah, um, nothing, Ser.”  Bennett.  Cullen remembered the recruit from the latest batch of pilgrims that had made their way to Skyhold about a month ago.  Willing enough to serve but an all-around cocky little prick when surrounded by his peers.  He couldn’t have been much older than twenty-five.

“Is that so?” Cullen mused, walking over to the table and wrapping his fingers around the hilt of one of the swords.  He lifted the blade and turned it over thoughtfully before shifting his gaze back to Bennett.  “And here I thought we were discussing our Inquisitor?  The woman who will lead this cause to victory - the cause that you have all sworn yourself to?”

They said nothing, Bennett being the only one able to meet his eyes, with an effort at that.

Cullen gingerly set the sword back down before stalking over to the man, leaving barely half a foot of distance in between them.  “If you’ve been paying any attention, you’ll know that our leader put a stop to the Empress’ assassination and ended the civil war.  You would also be aware of the fact that our numbers and influence strengthen each time she leaves Skyhold and risks her life for this cause.”

Bennett cleared his throat, finally glancing away at the Commander’s challenging stare.  “Yes, Ser, I am aware,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, recruit, speak up.  I can’t quite hear you.”

He turned his chin up, collecting whatever dignity he had left and said more clearly, “Yes, Ser, I am aware.”

“Then _knowing_ the things that she’s accomplished out of sheer will and real concern for the people of Thedas, don’t you think a person in her position deserves a little bit of a respect?” Cullen demanded, his admonishing tone remaining even, unwavering.  He glanced briefly at the other two recruits before focusing back on the one in front of him.  Despite the anger still hot beneath his skin, he managed to keep himself calm as he spoke.  

He saw Bennett’s throat twitch as he swallowed nervously.  “Yes, Commander,” the recruit said quietly, his gaze aimed at the floor again.

“Good.  I suggest you all return to your duties.   _Now_.”

Cullen watched them flee the armory, shaking his head once they were out of sight.  He moved on to view the new selection of blades when the unwanted thoughts began to invade his mind.  Try as he might, he couldn’t rid himself of them.

 _Was_ the Inquisitor involved with anyone else..?

* * *

 

Ailla swung open the door to Cullen’s office only to see that he wasn’t there.  She felt a pit of disappointment form inside of her stomach.  She couldn’t believe how eager she was to get back to Skyhold just so she could see him, and she’d only been away for four days.  

With a small sigh, she walked up to his desk and tossed a few pieces of parchment onto it - the letters in the Emerald Graves that he had tasked her with retrieving.  It turns out that Samson was getting his red lyrium from a place called Sahrnia Quarry, located in Emprise du Lion.  How they were actually mining the red lyrium, the letters didn’t say but they were soon going to find out.

Some movement to the side of her caught the corner of her eye and she noticed that the east side door to his office was wide open. Cullen was standing near the middle of the battlements.  Ailla felt perplexed at how happy she was to see him.  It wasn’t even a week ago when she dreaded having to be in the same room with him, partly because he had been making efforts to avoid her, mostly because her feelings for him ate away at her from the inside out.   

But the moment they’d kissed, it was like a heavy veil had been lifted up from between them and they were free to do whatever they’d like.  It was refreshing, not having to feel the painful twist in her stomach every time she looked at him.  

Ailla walked along the battlements to meet with him, watching him close his eyes and breathe in the cold mountain air.  

He turned to look at her as she approached him, greeting her with a smile.  He spoke first, “I wanted to thank you.  When you came to see me..  If there’s anything..”  his words died out as he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily.  “This sounded much better in my head.”

She stood next to him and leaned back against the ramparts, folding her arms across her chest.  “I hope you’re feeling better,” she told him. While she was away, Ailla did look forward to seeing him but she also felt constantly worried about whether or not he was in pain. Granted, that had always been a worry but now it was greatly amplified.  

Cullen glanced away, thinking about his answer before responding, “I.. Yes.”

“Is it always that bad?”

“The pain comes and goes.”  He turned back to face the mountains, leaning forward with his elbows against the ramparts.  “Sometimes, I feel as if I’m back there.  I should have not pushed myself so hard that day.”

Ailla stared at him, searching his face.  He seemed to okay - no twitches of pain in his expression or unsteadiness in his posture.  She hoped that this wellness would persist.  “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Cullen gave her a small smile.  “I am.”  His expression sobered as he shifted his eyes forward, his gaze becoming distant.  “I never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle.  I was.. not myself after that.  I was angry.  For years, that anger blinded me.”  He hung his head a little with a sigh, “I’m not proud of the man that made me.  But.. I suppose now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened.  It’s a start.”

Ailla didn’t know whether or not to smile.  Whatever they meant to each other, it had to be something important.  He trusted her as much as she trusted him; she told him about what happened to her as child and he told her about the Circle Tower. It just seem to fit.  But at the same time, his hardships seemed to weigh on her.  Cullen had to relive the horrors of his past during his waking moments, and something told her that his suffering didn’t end when he decided to turn to slumber.  Ailla couldn’t imagine what that was like; at least she could wake up from her nightmares.

She smiled, deciding to be encouraging right now, above all else.

“For what it’s worth,” Ailla broke the silence=, stepping closer to him and nudging his arm with her elbow,  “I like who you are now, if I haven’t already made that clear.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose in disbelief.  “Even after…?”

“Cullen,” Ailla chuckled, shaking her head.  He stood upright and she did the same so they could face each other.  “I care about you.  You’ve done nothing to change that.”

His face softened and without warning he stepped toward her, gently taking her face in his hands and lowering his lips to hers.  Ailla’s heart began to race almost instantly.  She didn’t expect the gesture but she wholeheartedly welcomed it all the same.  She closed her eyes and moved her lips into his, stepping in closer to him so she could rest her hands against his breast plate.  Did he always have to wear armor?  Couldn’t he wear something more.. accessible?

He pulled his lips away, which were shaped into a nervous smile, his cheeks tinged with a light shade of pink.  He moved a hand away from her face and let it rest at his side but kept the other where it was, gently stroking her cheekbone with his thumb.  “I’m.. well, I would say I’m sorry if I hadn’t wanted to do that for the past four days.”

“I wouldn’t have accepted your apology anyway,” she chortled and scratched the back of her head.  What an odd sensation - feeling like she could get used to this and at the same time, not knowing if she ever would. If she ever got mixed up with time magic again and was thrown back into the past to any time before the Inquisition, she could tell her former self that she would later grow feelings for an ex-Knight-Commander. Ailla might not return to the present unscathed. 

Cullen folded his arms across his chest then, his eyes showing hints of concern.  “You must have just returned. How are you?  I’m sure you have troubles of your own.”

Ailla inhaled slowly through her nose, turning the question over thoughtfully in her mind.  She supposed being the Inquisitor did come with having some troubles but she hadn’t really had time to think about them.  There was just so much to do and who knew how much time they really had.  She sighed out the deep breath, deciding to stick with honesty, “I’m scared.  I mean, you were right.  There are so many lives depending on our success.  Corypheus is still out there.”  She wondered if he could see the fear sprouting in her eyes as she spoke and made attempt to push it aside.  “But, then again, I have met a lot of good people.  Knowing that they have my back..  It helps.”

“You do keep strange company,” he chuckled.  

Ailla shrugged, turning on her heel to stroll the battlements.  “As do you.”  

Cullen followed closely by her side, and from her peripherals she noticed him rub the back of his neck again.  Was he really feeling alright?  He didn’t look pained.. Instead, he looked a little nervous.  Ailla tilted her head a bit to get a good look at his face.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“What?  Oh, yes, of course.  I’m just..” Cullen cleared his throat.  “Speaking of strange company, I..”  He shook his head, waving his hand in a quick dismissal.  “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Ailla blinked before scoffing out a chuckle of disbelief.  “Hold on there.  You can’t just back out now!  What were you gonna say?”  

“Maker’s breath.. Please don’t take this the wrong way, Inquisitor.  I don’t mean any disrespect,” Cullen began, looking increasingly anxious with each step they took.  “There have been.. rumors."

“Rumors, huh?” she repeated, feeling amused.  She knew of the rumors.  Among those who still faithfully saw her as a holy figure, there were others who tended to speak of her in a more.. unchaste manner.  They thought she and Dorian were frequent sexual partners with a dash of Bull and Sera.  Dorian had asked her if she wanted him to let all of Skyhold know that he preferred men, to which Ailla replied, "Oh, no, not a chance.  It's way more fun this way."

She didn't really mind the rumors since she wasn't a stranger to bedding men.  They could very well be true, after all.  Granted, it had been quite some time since she last shared her bed with someone and the thought hadn’t really come to mind until.. recently.  “Do you believe them?” she asked Cullen, raising an eyebrow expectantly.  She backpedaled, deciding it was best not to tease him; he looked nervous enough already.  Ailla added, “It’s okay if you do, I won’t blame you.”

“It’s not that I believe them, really,” he muttered, looking away as if to search for words that were floating around his head but stayed just out of reach.  Was he afraid that he was going to insult her?

They were approaching the other end of the battlement, stopping at one of the wall towers that held another unoccupied room.  Cullen faced her, his eyes filled with apprehension and a little bit of frustration.  He started slow, like he was still trying to find his bearings, “I want to be with you.  You know that, right?”

Ailla felt her chest tighten and she wasn’t sure why.  There it was, out in the open - Cullen wanted to be with her.  But his anxiety was becoming contagious with the way he was talking.  “Of course.  At least, that’s what that kiss back there told me,” she said.

He tried to smile at that, and went on, “It’s not that I believe the rumors.  It’s just.. I can only get the truth of them from you, and it’s nothing we’ve ever discussed.  Before, we never had grounds to discuss them but now..  I suppose what I’m trying to say is.. I want to be with you, Inquisitor, but I don’t know if I can do that if you’re.. involved with someone else.”  Cullen clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing like he was bracing for an impact.

Ailla blinked as she began to realize his apprehension.  He wasn’t afraid of insulting her; he was afraid of what the truth might be.  What if Ailla was indeed in a relationship with someone else?  For some, that wouldn’t necessarily stop them from pursuing another paramour.  She couldn’t blame Cullen for not wanting to be a part of something like that, no matter how much they seemed to like each other.  He certainly hadn’t insulted her.  In fact, she could feel her chest warming with affection for him.  Not only did he want them to be together - just the two of them - but he trusted her and her alone with the truth of these rumors.

Cullen looked at her in ways that no man ever did, and she understood now that it was because no one ever wanted her like he did.  A warm smile spread across Ailla’s lips.  “The rumors aren't true. I want to be with you too, Cullen,”  She poked a finger against his chest.  “Just you.”

With that, all of his uneasiness seemed to melt away, his expression smoothing out in relief, eyes turning warm.  “I’m glad.”  He sighed through a toothy half-smile.  “Very glad, actually.”

Ailla shook her head with a chuckle before placing hand against the door beside them, leading into the room of the wall tower.  She nodded her head in its direction, wanting to continue their walk.  “Glad we cleared the air,” she said before pushing the door open.

Ailla gasped, her jaw dropping so fast that she thought it would dislocate.

“Oh sweet Maker!” Cullen exclaimed, quickly turning his head away and blocking his peripherals with his hand.

They remained in the doorway of one of the bedrooms that the construction team was able to repair and renovate.  The room was fully furnished with a bed, wardrobe and nightstand.  On the bed laid a stark naked Iron Bull, supporting himself up on his elbows, one leg bent up and the other stretched out.  Sitting on the edge of the bed beside him was Dorian, unlacing his boots, likely with the intention of joining Bull on his level of nudity.

“Cullen, Boss, how’s it going?” Bull asked nonchalantly.

Dorian glanced up at them, looking just as unconcerned.  “Oh, hello there.  It would have been better to knock.  Not for our sake's, of course.”

“But.. I thought.. but he..” Ailla stammered, unable to get a thought across.  “So I take it-”

“Actually,” Bull interjected, pointing at Dorian, “ _He’s_ the one who’s been taking it."

Beside her, Cullen stifled a laugh and Ailla glanced at him with a grin, her shoulders shaking with her own silent laughter.  With the initial shock passing, she turned back to Dorian and folded her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow at him, “I thought you said you’d never find yourself in bed with him.”  She paused, remembering that the conversation she had with Dorian about this had been private.  She raised a hand to Bull, giving him an apologetic look, “No offense.”

He shrugged, “None taken."

“A Tevinter mage and a Qunari,” Cullen mused, still refusing to look in their direction, probably because Bull was making no efforts to conceal himself.  “It’s rather poetic.”

Dorian beamed.  “Isn’t it, though?  Bull can be extremely charming at times in a vulgar sort of way.”  He pulled off his boots, tossing them aside, before planting his hands on his hips, looking at Ailla and Cullen expectantly.

The two of them exchanged glances and realization dawned.  “Oh!” Ailla raised her hands and began to slowly back out of the room, unable to wipe away the grin painted onto her face.  Despite the shock, she felt happy for them.

Cullen followed suit after her.  “We’ll leave you be.”

“Have fun!” Ailla wheeled around and shut the door behind her.  She shuffled forward and leaned back against the ramparts, tucking an arm across her torso and bringing her free hand to her mouth so she could chew on her thumb nail.  “Maker, I can’t believe we just walked in on that,” she tried to say as laughter started to bubble up from inside of her chest.

Cullen stood next to her and pressed his hand against his forehead, bringing his head back.  He didn’t respond - only laughed.  A boisterous laugh that she had never heard from him before.  

It was a beautiful sound.

* * *

 

A scout was sent to deliver a few reports to the Inquisitor’s quarters.  Among the reports was a letter that she would later read, a letter that would either drop her to her knees in tears or drive her to destroy everything inside of her room.

Or both.

_Dearest Sister,_

_I did not believe the rumors at first.  Ailla Trevelyan.  The Herald of Andraste.  The Inquisitor.  My sister?  The leader of a holy expedition?  It did not seem to be in the realm of possibilities._

_But word of your accomplishments have been on everyone’s lips.  A fierce woman with hair nearly as dark as blood and forest green eyes, wielding two daggers to strike down her enemies.  That was when I knew it was you._

_Ailla, please write back.  We have so much to talk about. I am in Hasmal's Circle still under orders of my Knight-Commander, Ser Brycen. Your Commander will also soon be receiving a request from Ser Brycen that I am sure you will later discuss.  I pray to the Maker that this letter reaches you._

_Your brother,_

_Robert_


	16. Of Rage and Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailla's older brother will be arriving at Skyhold within a week's time, and she's having a hard time dealing with the idea of seeing again after more than a decade. Cullen hopes he'll be enough to help the Inquisitor through this time of bad blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks as always for reading. Not much to note other than I went a slightly different direction with the desire demon that you potentially fight in Suledin Keep to make things interesting. Got a bit of a questionnaire at the bottom, kind of like before! Feedback and critique always appreciated!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!

“Inquisitor, are you awake?” Josephine called from the doorway of Ailla’s quarters.  “I apologize for waking you if you were still asleep.”

Ailla stood on the balcony, leaning against the banisters and facing the vast wall of snow-covered mountains..  She quickly wiped at her eyes and nose but realize that the cold had already dried the tears to her face.  “Damn it,” she whispered, sniffling, as she clutched the piece of parchment tightly in her hand.  Ailla cleared her throat, calling back over her shoulder, “I’m here, Josie.”  Her voice cracked, and she cursed under her breath.

A surprised gasp followed the sound of her footsteps stopping abruptly at the top of the stairs that led to the main room.  “Maker, what happened?”

The desk had been toppled over, surrounded by books that had been ripped from the shelves and thrown roughly to the floor.  A chair lay on its side, missing a leg which could be found on the other side of the room.  Feathers were strewn across the bed and the floor surrounding it from when Ailla had torn through a pillow with her daggers.  

She felt embarrassed thinking about the tantrum she threw last night.  Her cheeks felt warm from the residual fury and it was mixed with a generous lump of shame.  Ailla knew that she had been angry person for most of her life but she thought - hoped even - that the last several months with the Inquisition had changed that.

It hadn’t, it turns out.

There was still a deep pit in her soul that teemed with aggression and she owed much of its glut to her brother’s departure to join the Templars.

“Are you hurt, Inquisitor?” Josephine asked, a hint of urgency in her voice as she hurried over to the balcony to stand beside her.

Ailla shook her head.  “No, I’m fine, Josie.  Just had an… incident.”  She rubbed at her forehead, knowing Josephine would want to send someone up right away to clean the mess up for her.  “I’ll get everything picked up.”

“Did you.. want to talk about it?”

Ailla couldn’t help but crack a small smile.  She and Josephine got along fine but their relationship never had much depth.  They hardly talked about anything beyond Inquisition matters.  Josephine seemed a bit uncomfortable offering her consolation but Ailla appreciated nonetheless.  She gave the Ambassador a small shrug of her shoulder.  “It’s a long story.  Maybe we can talk about it over an ale or two.  Did you need something, Josie?”

“Ah well, we were supposed to have a war meeting this morning and…”

Ailla’s eyes widened as she glanced up at the sky to see that the sun was already starting to make it’s way slightly toward the west.  It was already past noon.  “Maker, I am so sorry!  I.. I can’t believe I forgot.”

The parchment crinkled under the tightening of her grip, wrinkling one side of it and leaving the other half smooth.  This letter had taken over every thought in her mind the minute she finished reading the last word. _Robert._  His name, his penmanship, his signature.  Why?  Why _now_?  She wanted to rip the letter to shreds and watch the pieces get swept away by the wind, lost forever to the snow of the mountains.  

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“It’s quite alright,” Josephine said with a smile and a wave of her hand.  “The Commander thought it best to let you rest since you had just returned from the Emerald Graves.  Did you need more time?”

More time.  All the time in the world wouldn’t help Ailla sort out her mind on her own.  “I’ll meet you in the war room in a few minutes.”

She nodded but lingered, looking a bit distracted.

“Are you okay, Josie?”

Josephine rubbed her hands together nervously.  “It’s a.. personal matter, Inquisitor.  I was hoping you and I could speak about it later in my office after the meeting.”

Ailla’s knitted her eyebrows together in concern, and for the first time in the last twelve hours, her mind focused on something other than the letter in her hand.  “Of course.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”  With that, she left Ailla alone again.

Ailla shook her head, folding the parchment and stuck it in her pocket.  She would have hoped that this war meeting would take her mind off of her brother but no doubt were they going to discuss Ser Brycen’s request, whatever that happened to be.  Hopefully, this war briefing and whatever came of it would be enough of a distraction.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry.  I don’t think I heard you right.  Ser Brycen wants to be transferred to the Inquisition?”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at the Inquisitor, not understanding her reaction.  Apparently, after the rebellion, the people at Hasmal were ready to do away with the loyalist mages that remained in the Circle.  A good number of the Templars there had left with the Lord Seeker, and those who stayed were running low on resources.  Ser Brycen feared that he and his remaining Templars would no longer be able to fulfill their duty of protecting the mages in Hasmal, and he requested safe passage to Skyhold.  

“Yes,” Cullen answered her, blinking in surprise as he watched her clench her jaw, her throat twitching as she swallowed.  He went on, cautiously, “I’m.. sure we have enough supplies at Skyhold to support additional occupants.  The blacksmiths have worked tirelessly on new weapons and we haven’t had to worry about food in quite a while.”

“Right,” she muttered through clenched teeth as she gripped at the edge of the war table.  The room was silent for a moment, and Cullen exchanged confused glances with Leliana and Josephine.  Even Morrigan seemed puzzled.

It was clear that the Inquisitor was struggling with some internal war.  He had seen that expression many times on his own face whenever he looked in the mirror.  Cullen couldn’t possibly imagine why Ser Brycen’s request had set this off but he hoped it was something he could help ease later.  He felt uneasy being in the dark about something that ailed her.

She took a deep breath through her nose before exhaling with a slump of her shoulders.  “Of course.  Josephine, what can we arrange?”

“Ah, yes, well,” the Ambassador said hastily, shaking her head.  She too seemed distracted by the Inquisitor’s strange behavior.  Her eyes quickly scanned over the paperwork she had pinned to the parchment board in her hand.  “We can arrange safe passage from Hasmal.  The city leaders will think they owe us a favor.”

The Inquisitor straightened up, planting her hands on her hips as she began to pace, her eyes distant.  “Okay, what’s next?”

They all went on to discuss how they would pursue their lead on the Samson’s source of lyrium.  Cullen had been particularly eager to come to this subject during their meeting.  An ominous feeling nagged at the back of his mind for every moment that that traitor remained free.  Leaving the Chantry for the Inquisition was one thing but joining the likes of Corypheus?  That was outright blasphemy and insanity.

“Once we’ve destroyed Samson’s source of lyrium, I implore you to follow up on Hawke’s lead,” Leliana suggested.  “There’s no telling if or when this trail will grow cold.”

The Inquisitor nodded, rubbing at her eyes before pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Yes, of course.  Josephine, when can we expect the new arrivals?”

“Ah, um..” Josephine shuffled through her paperwork.  “I imagine the journey from the Free Marches to Skyhold will take about a week’s time.”

“I wonder if I’ll be here to greet them,” the Inquisitor muttered.  She shook her then, scratching at her head, as if she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.  

Curiosity ensnared him.  Did she not want to be present during their arrival?  Was she uncomfortable with having more Templars at Skyhold?  He dismissed the thought.  She didn’t seem to have a problem with the Templars that resided there now.  In fact, in recent months, he had been noticing her frigidity toward them slowly melt away.  He assumed that the Inquisitor was beginning to see them less as Templars and more of her own people.

So what was wrong?

“Let us call it a day,” Morrigan offered, eyeing the Inquisitor carefully.  “We can begin preparations to travel to Sahrnia Quarry in the morning.”

The Inquisitor regarded the sorceress with appreciation before releasing a short sigh.  She turned her back to the doors while everyone filed out, crossing her arms over her chest while she stared absently out of the window.  Cullen stayed behind, waiting for the Josephine to shut the door before approaching the Inquisitor.  

He gingerly placed a hand on her upper back as he stood at her side, his body facing her.  He felt surprised at how tense her muscles were beneath her skin.  “What troubles you?” he asked quietly, eyes searching her face.

Her teeth were clenched tightly, lips pressed together in a thin line.  Her eyes darted aimlessly, and Cullen wondered for a moment whether she would try to dismiss him or be honest.  He hoped for the latter, unsure of whether or not he’d be able to let it go himself.  She was his, and he was hers.  Now more than ever he wanted to be her pillar.

“Apparently, my brother is serving under Ser Brycen in Hasmal,” she replied finally, her gaze still locking itself to the world outside of the window.  

Cullen’s eyebrows rose.   _Brother_?  He wasn’t aware she had any siblings.  From her tone, he doubted she would have ever told him, or anyone, that she had  brother.  He remained silent so she could go on, unable to help the feeling of intrigue that mingled with his concern.  He rubbed his hand lightly against her back in encouragement, and she seemed to relax at little beneath his touch.

“Rob and I were so close,” she continued, her voice hard and flat, as if she was trying to distance herself from her own words.  Cullen felt his chest tighten, recognizing her tone as the same tone she had used when she first revealed to him part of her past.  “He taught me how to fight and how to be sneaky.  He was my favorite person in the world, you know?  My big brother.”  

Her lips contorted, as if she was about to smile but they twisted into a remorseful grimace instead.  “He left to join the Templars when I was twelve.  He knew how my parents treated me, and he left anyway.  Of course, that wasn’t enough for me to hate him.  I wrote him every day, told him I missed him, and to come home and visit when he could.  He never wrote back, not once.”

Cullen frowned, seeing the same behavior being reflecting back on him.  He was certainly guilty of not writing to his family as often as he should.  He imagined how Mia felt whenever he failed to write and applied that to the Inquisitor, only significantly amplified.

“At first I thought maybe the ravens were just losing my letters but after the hundredth one, that seemed very unlikely.  I didn’t know if he was alive or dead or if he still even thought of me.”  Her voice quieted until it was barely above a whisper.  “After Marly died, I was desperate to hear from him again.  I was angry and hurt and alone so I.. I told him everything.  I told him about Marly, about what that Templar did to me.  And.. nothing.  Not a word.  I decided then that he either died or just.. didn’t love me anymore.  I got a letter from his last night, after more than ten years, asking  _me_ to write back.  Fucking bastard.”

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, feeling dumbfounded and useless.  He hoped that he could comfort her but remembered he was horrible with words of consolation.  He tended to work better with his actions.  With that thought in mind, he slid his hand across her back to her shoulder and pulled her close.  The brother that abandoned her would soon again be a part of her life, after more than a decade.  Cullen wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to leave any of his siblings behind in such a toxic living environment, and if he had, he was certain he wouldn’t ignore their letters.  

Cullen could only assume that the Inquisitor had tucked that piece of her past away, leaving an intense hate in its wake.  An unhealthy habit of hers, he found.

She shrugged as she turned to move into him, letting her forehead fall against his armor with a metallic _thunk_.  She sighed heavily, whispering, “I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“I know,” Cullen whispered, hugging her tight against him.  He blinked as she groaned, raising her forehead only to let it to thud against his armor again.  “Hey, hey,” he said quietly, gently grasping her shoulders and lifting her off of him.  Her gaze remained aimed at the floor. “It will be alright.  Even if things don’t go well, you’ll have someone to catch you if-”

“When.”

“- _if_ you fall,” he finished firmly.  He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up, seeing an absolute dread in her eyes.  He brought his lips gently to her forehead.

* * *

 

Ailla felt herself relax beneath his lips, soft and warm against her skin, her anxiety starting to melt like wax dripping down the sides of a candlestick - still present, less prominent.  Somehow, it always made her feel a little uncomfortable that one person could have such a profound affect on her, making the demon she had to face seem less of a threat and more of just an obstacle.  But right now, she tried to relish in Cullen’s confidence.  

She really, truly, _desperately_ did not want to see Rob.  The mere thought of his arrival threatened to throw her into another fit of rage.  If Cullen hadn’t been present with his calming aura to muffle her nerves, she likely would have had to explain to her advisors why the war table was toppled over with the map markers scattered all over the floor.

“Thank you,” she muttered, as Cullen pulled his lips away and formed them into a warm smile.

“No need.”  He sighed, letting his hands fall to the hilt of his blade.  “I suppose I should get to work.  I’d like to gather as much information on Sahrnia Quarry before you depart.  Will you be alright?”

Ailla shrugged, trying to hide her disappointment.  Sometimes, she wanted to forget that she was the Inquisitor and he was the Commander so their duties could not interfere with their relationship.  But reality was persistent.  “I suppose so.  I’ll be training with Rylen, then.  See you tonight?”

He nodded with a small smile before heading out.  The room felt suddenly cold as he took his calm aura with him.  Ailla’s stomach tightened, almost painfully, as the door closed, the storm cloud above her head pouring down on her.

Robert Trevelyan would be arriving at Skyhold within the week, and how she would react when she finally saw him was anyone’s guess, including hers.

Her eyes still glued to the door where she had seen Cullen last, she wondered how she spent so much of her life alone.  She hated being alone.

* * *

 

Snow crunched beneath their feet as they trekked through Suledin Keep.

“Is there ever a time when we could just do, I don’t know, maybe _one_ thing when we travel some place?” Varric asked as yanked a crossbow bolt out of a dead Red Templar, wiping it clean against his trousers.

Ailla rummaged through the armor of one of the Templars she’d killed, finding a sack of gold and some snoufleur skin.  “What do you mean?” she asked, pocketing her finds as she straightened up.

“Ah, nothin’.  I just didn’t expect to be going after some ancient desire demon while taking Suledin Keep.”

“Is the Inquisition becoming too much for you, Varric?” Cassandra asked sardonically.

He waved his hand dismissively.  “Nah, of course not.  I thought we’d be here and back within a week’s time.  Had some ideas I’ve been itching to write out for awhile.  At this rate, we won’t be back for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s the idea,” Ailla muttered to herself.  Cullen had made it very clear that taking back Suledin Keep was just as important an objective as investigating Sahrnia Quarry while they were in Empire du Lion.  However, saying that she wasn’t relieved that she’d be away from Skyhold for the next couple of weeks would be lie.  Ser Brycen and his men would be arriving at Skyhold in a few days and the longer Ailla remained in the field, the longer she could put off seeing Rob.

“You know, Seeker,” Varric went on, a toothy smirk plastered onto his face, “I think you inspired me to write another romance serial.  I figured, hey, there’s gotta be more saps like you out there.”

Dorian laughed aloud while Cassandra’s face contorted with a scowl.  She said nothing, however, and Ailla knew that she didn’t want to give Varric the satisfaction.  

They ventured further into the Keep, finally coming across a large courtyard.  In the middle of the courtyard stood tall crystal peaks of red lyrium, enshrined in an intricate steel enclosure.  A man stood in front of the crag of red lyrium, his arms folded across his chest.  He looked normal enough but something dark glinted in his eyes.

“I take it you’re Imshael,” Ailla said as she approached him, stopping a good ten feet from him.  

He smirked, opening his arms and spreading them in greeting.  “Was it the dashing good looks?”

“No, it was the stench of demon.”

Imshael cleared his throat.  “Ahem.  Spirit of Choice.”

“Maker give us strength,” Cassandra spat behind Ailla.

“You all seem like a very violent bunch,” he commented, eyeing each of them one by one.  “And you, Inquisitor.  Hero, murderer, I can’t really tell.  You know, you do have a choice.  It doesn’t always have to end in blood.”

Ailla narrowed her eyes into a glare at the demon, brandishing her dagger in warning.  “Talk.”

“Simple!  We don’t fight, and I grant you power.  Riches!  Or maybe even virgins.  Your pick!” His jovial tone grated against Ailla’s nerves and she was about ready to take her knife to his throat to shut him up.  

But as if reading her thoughts, the demon began to changed, morphing into another person entirely.  His clothes seemed to melt into him, leaving him barechested with only a familiar pair of boots and brown trousers to conceal the rest of him.  Ailla was staring into Cullen’s face now but it twisted into a wicked sneer.  She kept her eyes locked onto the demon’s but in her peripherals, she could clearly see the bulk and definition of his chest and abdominals.  “This is what you _desire_ , yes?” The demon changed his voice, making it sound identical to Cullen’s.  

Ailla felt her cheeks with heat and her entire body felt warm despite the cold.  She wished for a moment that she had brought Bull and Sera along instead of Varric and Cassandra.  It would have been much less embarrassing.

“Oh my,” Dorian commented.  “Do you think that’s what he really looks like beneath all the armor?”

“He hasn’t yet taken you to bed, has he?” Imshael mocked.  “I could make you the most beautiful woman on earth.  He couldn’t resist you then.”

“Really?”  Varric asked from behind her.  “Damn it, Josephine’s won this one.”

“Oh you took her bet too?  Seems she’s cleaned out both our pockets with that one,” Dorian muttered.

Ailla ignored them, deciding to confront them later for betting on whether or not she was getting laid.  Of course, the demon wasn’t wrong.  They hadn’t yet shared a bed but there just.. didn’t ever seem to be a good time.  She continued to glare at the demon, looking past the fake image of Cullen.  She had already killed Cullen once.  Something told her she’d have an easier time killing a fake version of him.

“Oh, well that’s just no fun,” Imshael said with an exaggerated pout.

Desire demons were tricky.  Ailla hadn’t come across one in a very long time that could invade one’s mind and find their deepest desires, transforming if need be for optimal persuasion.  The joke was on Imshael, however.  There wasn’t anything Ailla wanted so desperately as to make a deal with him.

Imshael snickered as he morphed back into his original form.  “Oh, now that’s not true.  I hear your brother’s coming into town.”

Ailla gritted her teeth.  And here she thought she could take her mind off of that for awhile.  “What the fuck are you getting at?” she hissed, taking a few steps closer to him, poised to kill.

“I could kill him for you.  Then you’ll have nothing worry about!”

She felt like an invisible fist had just buried itself into her solar plexus, forcing out an exhalation of disbelief.  Kill him?  No, that was absurd.  She was angry at him, sure but-

“Don’t lie to yourself, Inquisitor,” he interrupted her thoughts.  “You hate the man.  You’ve spent years hoping - _wishing_ \- that he was dead, just so you didn’t have to accept the cold hard fact that your dear older brother no longer loved you.  And I can grant you this wish.  All you must do is let me leave this place and we’ll never meet again.”

Varric chuckled.  “Bad move, ugly.”

Bad move, indeed.  The words lit a fire under Ailla’s feet and she lunged at him. “No,” she growled.  “You die today, demon.”

The fight ensued and she was glad that she had company because her mind was whirling with distracting thoughts.

 _Is that the kind of person I am_?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Questionnaire time!
> 
> 1\. Now that they are together, does Ailla's and Cullen's relationship seem believable?
> 
> 2\. Do you like where the story is going? Specifically with Ailla's brother?
> 
> 3\. How's the pace? Fast, slow, just right?
> 
> Sorry for all of the questions. I write this for me, and for you guys! You're my audience and support, after all. :) Thanks again for reading!


	17. A Helpful Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assassination attempt has been made on Josephine's life but luckily enough, she was saved by one of Brycen's Templars. Shortly after AIlla returned from Empire Du Lion, she finds out that this heroic Templar is her brother Robert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeee! Almost at 100 kudos! That makes me very happy. :) Thank you for reading and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I appreciate all of your support! Any feedback and critique is also appreciated. Thanks again, guys!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follow me on Tumblr!: operation-firecobraclaw. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!

“ _What_?”

The scout cringed as Ailla’s voice rose out of anger and disbelief. “I-I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” he stammered, rubbing his hands together nervously.  “That’s all I know.  Sister Leliana wanted me to report to you as soon as you arrived.”

Ailla ran a hand through her hair, sighing heavily. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.  Thank you.  Carry on.”

The scout nodded, saluting her before hastily taking his leave.

“Fuck!” Ailla cursed as she stormed toward the great hall to meet with Josephine in her office.

Cassandra jogged to catch up with her, falling into stride beside her.  “Inquisitor, why are these assassin’s after Josephine?” she asked, her voice riddled with concern.

“The House of Repose were contracted by an enemy house of the Montilyet’s more than a hundred years ago,” Ailla muttered through her teeth.  “Josephine attempted to reinstate her family as a trading power in Orlais, and that triggered the contact and elicited the assassin’s pursuit.  Son of a bitch, I can’t believe they infiltrated us.”

“I will speak with Cullen and Leliana about bolstering our defenses,” Cassandra said, sounding bitter herself, “We should have been prepared for this.”

They took long strides across the great hall and swung the doors open to Josephine’s office.  Ailla stopped in her tracks at the sight of blood smeared across across the wall and floor.  One of the chairs by the fireplace was toppled over and several books laid scattered across the floor in front of the bookshelf.  Josephine was speaking to one of the sergeants that was tasked with guarding her.

Ailla’s fists clenched as her eyes fell to the golden silk of Josephine’s dress.  The sleeve on her right upper arm was slashed open, each side of the tear lined with the dark red hue of blood.

“Josie, I am so sorry,” Ailla sighed as she approached her.  “Are you alright?”

Josephine tried to give her reassuring smile but her lips quivered.  She was still visibly shaken.  “No, please, don’t apologize, Inquisitor.  I should have guessed that the assassins would infiltrate the servants.”

Ailla shook her head, pacing now as she rubbed at her forehead.  She could feel her heart beat pulsing at her temples.  “Damn it, this is my fault.  I should have had Leliana’s men take care of those bastards as soon as possible.”

“Really, Inquisitor, I’m fine.  I-”

“You could have died, Josie!”  Ailla reined herself in, immediately regretting her tone when she saw the fear flicker in her eyes.  She took a deep breath before going on, more calmly this time, “I’m glad you’re alright.  You should get that wound stitched up as soon as possible.  I can have Dorian take a look at it for you.  He should be out in the courtyard.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cassandra offered

Josephine gave her and Ailla a small nod, as well as an appreciative smile  “Thank you.  In the mean time, Leliana has assigned more people to shadow me.”  She turned to leave but paused, addressing Ailla once more, “Inquisitor, I appreciate all you’ve done for me thus far.  However you decide to deal with the House of Repose, you will always have my gratitude but.. I cannot stand the thought of more bloodshed on my behalf.  We can still elevate the Du Paraquettes to nobility and nullify the contract.”

Ailla planted her hands on her hips, leveling her gaze with Josephine’s.  She was ready to outright refuse the latter option as it would take too much time.  For all they knew, another agent could be among them right now, poised to strike given the opportunity.  But Josephine’s eyes were pleading and Ailla couldn’t ignore them.  She sighed in frustration, “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”  With that, she and Cassandra left.

Ailla turned to the sergeant.  “Report.”

“Yes, Ser.  We were stationed outside of Lady Montilyet’s office when we heard the noise.  We rushed in to find that a Templar Knight had already been nearby while the attack ensued.  The assassin likely did not account for that variable once he penetrated our defenses.  The Templar had soon dispatched of the assassin but not without sustaining injury.  He’s currently in the sanatorium recovering from the encounter.”

“Templar?” Ailla questioned.  Apparently, she hadn’t expected that variable either.  Why hadn’t Josephine mentioned that?

The sergeant nodded.  “Yes, Ser.  One of Ser Brycen’s men who arrived about a week ago.”

 _Oh.. right_.  For a moment, she was completely distracted by Josephine’s situation but now her demon stood right behind her again, its shadow looming over her.  “Thank you, sergeant,” Ailla said.  “Please send someone to clean this up and turn in a report to the Commander.”

The sergeant saluted and left.  

Ailla tilted her head back, releasing another tired sigh.  How much longer could she prolong the inevitable?  Rob was here now and he was going to seek her out and find her eventually.  

Well, she could visit the injured Templar and thank him for his help.  Or discuss with Cullen their next move on Samson.  He should have already read the letters from the quarry that she had forwarded to him by raven.  She also needed to confer with Leliana regarding the assassin infiltration.  That would take a good couple of hours, right?

She sighed, pushing the thought away and heading to the sanatorium.  

* * *

 

“You understand why I must question you, yes?”

“Aye, Commander.”

Cullen eyed the Templar carefully, noticing the copper hue of his hair and beard.  He barely looked to be thirty but the lines in his face told Cullen that his years of being a Templar had certainly taken effect.  “It is rather odd that you were conveniently in the Ambassador’s office at the same time of the attack.  We are grateful that you risked your life for her but one can assume that you may have had some prior knowledge, despite the unlikelihood.”

“I understand.”  The Templar sat at the edge of the medical cot, hands gripping the mattress.  Bandages were wrapped around his stomach to help stop the bleeding from where he was stabbed in the side.  The present mages did the best they could but the wound was persistent.  Cullen hoped that Dorian could do a little more once he returned with the Inquisitor.  

When he said nothing, Cullen went on, “What is your name?”

“Robert.”  The Templar glanced up to steady his gaze with Cullen’s.

Cullen managed to maintain a mild expression, despite the jolt of curiosity he felt.   _Robert, as in Trevelyan_?  “And your surname?” he pressed.

“Trevelyan.”

 _That answers that_.  “So you share relations with the Inquisitor?”  As Cullen’s eyes searched his face, he began to see the similarities.  The hair color, the eyes - green like woodland trees with the same shape and structure on the the face.

“Yes, Commander.  She is my sister.”  His tone held a definite anxiety while also sounding eager.  “I ran into Lady Montilyet, who introduced herself as the Inquisition’s Ambassador.  I assumed she would know when Ailla was to return.  She told me she would be arriving back at Skyhold today and I was welcomed to wait in her office, as you all would have had a meeting shortly after her return.  The assassin came in from the stairwell in servant garb.  I was by the fire when he approached Lady Montilyet, and it wasn’t until he was close enough did I realize he was producing a knife from his garments.  Foolish of me - I should have seen it earlier.”  

Cullen nodded, dismissing any suspicion that Robert had anything to do with the attempt on Josephine’s life.  Barely any of it would have added up to begin with but he had to be sure.  He was beginning to feel a bit anxious himself, on behalf of the Inquisitor.  When would the fated reunion take place?  In the next day?  The next hour?  How was she going to react?  “I see.  Thank you for your cooperation, Robert.  Get some rest.  We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Robert gave him a half-hearted smile.  “Thank you, Commander.  How is she?  Lady Montilyet.”

“A bit shaken but alive, thanks to you,” Cullen replied with a small smile of his own.  He did feel relieved knowing that Josephine was all right, albeit frustrated at the infiltration.  “The wound on her arm was a small scratch so it should be easily and fully healed by one of the mages.”

“Ah, good,” Robert sighed, looking relieved himself.  “Thank you for telling me.  And.. If it isn’t too much to ask,” he went on, looking a bit sheepish now as he scratched the back of his head, “If you see my sister, would you mind letting her know that I’m here in the sanatorium?”

“Of course.” As Cullen turned to leave, Robert spoke up again hurriedly, “If I may, Commander, I just wanted to say that it will be an honor serving with you.  I admire the work you did in Kirkwall as Knight-Commander after the start of the rebellion.”

Cullen stood there for a moment, speechless.  The sincerity in Robert’s tone surprised him, and he couldn’t remember a time when he was actually commended for his work in Kirkwall, if he didn’t count Cassandra.  It was time he would rather not think about anyway, even if he spent the latter of his tenure there helping rebuild.  “Your words are much appreciated,” he regarded him thoughtfully.

He took his leave, feeling utterly conflicted.  On one hand, at face value and based off of his actions thus far, Robert seemed like a good and honorable man.  But on the other hand.. how honorable could a man be if he could so easily ignore grief and horrors experienced by a close loved one?  His younger sister, no less?

Cullen decided that it wasn’t his place to judge the man, not yet anyway.  He pushed aside the thought for now, wondering where the Inquisitor might be.  He thought it best to let her know as soon as possible the whereabouts of her brother.  Although he was of the firm belief that she should face him now and at least get some closure, whether or not she avoided the sanatorium would be her prerogative.  

* * *

 

Ailla made a stop at Cullen’s office, since it was on the way.  She figured he would be eager to move on with pursuing Samson, especially since their war meeting had been delayed due to the day’s “excitement.”  She pushed open the door to his office and saw him leaning over his desk, reading over a few pieces of parchment.  He raises his head upon hearing her enter.  He gave her a small smile before his expression turned solemn.

"I'm guessing those are the letters?" she asked, nodding toward the parchment on his desk as she approached him.

He nodded slowly.  "Yes.  I can't believe this.  He's making red lyrium out of people?"

"Not anymore," Ailla affirmed, "Not at that mine."

"I knew Samson had fallen but this?"  He began to pace back and forth behind his desk.  “It’s monstrous!  We have to put a stop to him.”  He picked up one of the letters and held it out for her to see.  “Look at these orders from the encampment.  That armor must give Samson extraordinary power.  We may not be able to stop him.”

Ailla folded her arms across her chest in resolution.  “Take away his armor and the lyrium and Samson is just another man.”

Cullen sighed.  “I’m not sure how.  Templars are trained not to destroy expensive magical equipment.”  He stroked at his chin.  “Perhaps Dagna has some ideas.  She crafts the impossible everyday.”

“I’ll go see her.  I’m sure she’ll find a way.”  Something else that will keep her busy…  

“Um.. before you go, Inquisitor,” Cullen muttered, “I have something I must tell you.”

Ailla blinked curiously.  “What is it?”

He cleared his throat, lifting his hand to massage at the back of his neck.  “There’s.. no easy way to say this but..  Well, your brother is in the sanatorium, recovering from the assassination attempt.  He was able to put a stop to the assassin before he could get to Josephine.  He asked me to inform you that he was there.”  She saw him clench his jaw, as if he was expecting an explosive response.

“Oh.” 

Ailla let the words sink in.  Robert had saved Josephine?  She realized then why Josephine hadn't mentioned the Templar that saved her. For some reason, knowing this made his presence in Skyhold much more _real_.  Up until this point, it had felt more like a rumor, maybe, or even a dream.  Like a creeping shadow that she could not touch nor escape.  But now, the reality of it all seemed to crash down in full force knowing that Rob was just a couple hundred yards away from her.

“How long do you think he’ll be there?” she asked flatly.

“About a day or two.  Brycen wanted him well-rested before returning to duty.”

“Right.”  She absentmindedly began to pace, feeling Cullen’s eyes on her with every step she took.  “I think I need.. I need to.. Shit, I need to lie down or something.”  She found herself gripping the ladder that led to the loft Cullen slept in.  Soon enough, she was climbing it, without really thinking, desperate to escape the looming reality.

“Inquisitor? Um…  Maybe it would be best to..”

“No, no, I’ll just be up here.”  She hoisted herself up onto the wood flooring and bee-lined to his bed.  She crawled under his sheets and yanked his pillow against her, hugging it tightly.  His scent engulfed her completely and she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths in and out through her nose.  It was childish, what she was doing. Slightly humiliating too.  But it was better than giving into the rage that was bubbling up beneath her skin.

_I could kill him for you.  Then you’ll have nothing to worry about!_

She could hear Cullen making his way up the ladder, and she gripped the pillow even tighter.

_Don’t lie to yourself, Inquisitor._

His boots fell heavily against the wood floor as he approached the bed, sitting on the edge of it beside her with her back facing him.

_You hate the man.  You’ve spent years hoping - wishing - that he was dead…_

“Inquisitor?”

_Is that the kind of person I am?_

“Tell me what’s troubling you.” Cullen asked gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.  

Even through the sheets and his glove, she could feel the warmth of his skin.  Suddenly, she became very aware that they were both in his bed.  She felt her ears warm at the thought, and her teeth raked over her bottom lip.  That desire demon was getting the better of her even after it had been vanquished.  The image of Imshael taking the form of a shirtless Cullen forced its way into her thoughts.   

Ugh, why was she such a damned mess?  Apparently, she didn’t take well to having a demon pry into her mind so it could parade her deepest desires right in front of her.

Wanting to spend the night with Cullen was a no-brainer.  It had become rather difficult not to think about sharing her bed with him ever since their feelings managed to reveal themselves.  Maybe once things started to cool down, they could...

But what of her other desires?   She didn’t truly want her brother dead.  Did she?  She was eighteen when she wrote the last letter that she ever sent to him, telling him what had happened to her.  When she didn’t hear back, she gave up.. and dismissed him as dead.  Maker, the desire demon was right.  She preferred the thought of her brother in his grave over him no longer caring about her.  And now he was alive, at Skyhold, and Ailla could no longer deny the truth.

She wasn’t sure what hurt more - realizing that she was still the same hateful, angry person, or that her brother was alive and well, confirming his neglect.  It was all very overwhelming.

Cullen squeezed her shoulder gently when she didn’t answer.  Ailla sat up with a sigh, letting the covers slip off of her.  She kept the pillow against her, wanting something to clutch on to.  Her gaze shifted over to Cullen, and she could only imagine that her expression was reminiscent to that of a downtrodden mabari.  

Cullen shook his head, breathing out a  soundless chuckle as he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek.  "What's on your mind?" he asked.

“I don’t think I trust myself to see my brother,” she replied quietly, catching his hand and holding against her face, tilting her head against his fingers.  She really liked his hands.  

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I might.. I don’t know..” Ailla struggled to find the words.  She doubted she even knew what she wanted to say.  She tilted her head back, growling out a sigh of frustration.  “I hate him, Cullen!” she said finally.  “I hate him.”  Ailla fell back onto his bed, her arms spread out at her side, hands hanging off the edge of the mattress.  She stared up at the sky through the broken planks that barely made up Cullen’s ceiling and muttered, "And I'm afraid I might.. do something I'll regret."

Cullen's eyebrows rose in understanding.  "I see,” he said as he gave one slow nod.  “You wish to bring him harm?"

"Yes.. No!  I mean no.. I don’t..” Ailla groaned, covering her eyes with the back of her forearm. “I’m afraid I’ll do something worse.”

 _I could kill him for you.  I could kill him for you.  I could kill him for you._  

He didn’t say anything at first, and Ailla felt her stomach twist.   _Maker, he probably thinks I’m a terrible human being…_  “Alright,” Cullen began, his tone unvarnished, “Allow me this question then, Inquisitor: if you truly do hate him that much, why would you regret it?”

“I.. well..” She paused, not expecting the question.  She rolled it around in her head, and it circled the answer that seemed to be the most obvious thing in the world.  Imshael had shown her desires that were long ago ingrained into her soul.  That didn’t mean that she still wanted the same thing, especially knowing that he was alive now.  She lifted her arm away from her face and let it fall to her side, almost in defeat.  “Because.. he’s my brother.”

Cullen nodded, his lips pulling up into a small smile.  “I think you should go see him.  What he did - I understand if you cannot forgive him.  But knowing why should bring you at least a small shred of peace.”

Ailla sighed, her cheeks puffing as she exhaled.  She sat up, and Cullen placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.  He rested his chin atop her head as he rubbed a hand against her upper arm.  Ailla turned and leaned into him, burrowing her face into the nape of his neck.  He was so warm.  She inhaled evenly through her nose, breathing in his scent - an earthy aroma mixed with a hint of leather.  It amazed her how much it helped calm her nerves and clear her mind.  And reminded her how badly she wanted him..

_Can’t we just…?  I mean.. we’re already here..  Rob could wait another hour.  Or two.  Or four._

Ailla lifted her head so she could look him in the eyes, as if she could search his soul and find in it the same desire she had for him.  His warm gaze was unwavering.  She could see that his breathing was becoming shallow, his eyes searching her face.  Ailla brought a hand to his cheek, slowly tracing it down one side of his neck.  His pulse quickened, and she felt his skin warm beneath her touch.  

 _Now’s not the time._  

The thought nagged at the back of her mind, forcing out a deep sigh through her nose.  Her shoulders slumped as she left her hand fall to her lap. She gave him a small, apologetic smile.  "Thank you for your help, Cullen.  I'll go see him now.  Maybe later we could.. carve out some time.  For us."

He returned her gesture with an understanding smile.  "I look forward to it."  He glanced away briefly, blushing at his own words before clearing his throat, "Should you need anything, I'll be here."

"I know you will."  Ailla climbed off the bed and made her way down the ladder.  As she approached the door to leave, she shouted to him, "I won't kill him but I can't promise he'll leave unharmed."

She heard him chuckle.  "You'll be the one explaining that to Brycen then."

 

 


	18. Quiet Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailla discovers that her brother was poisoned by the assassin's blade. Cullen finds Josephine unconscious in her office, near death. 
> 
> Whether they live or die is a waiting game now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait on this one! It's been quite the hectic month. I hope you like it! I just finished another playthrough of DA:O and wanted to use some of the crafting knowledge cause it just seemed nifty, haha. Also, Morrigan, ftw. As always, feed back is always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Also been wanting to clear things up. When I chose the name "Ailla," in my head I was pronouncing the "eye-la" cause apparently I don't know how to use the English language. Sorry for those who are correct and have been saying it "Ay-la." Cuz it's "eye-la." SORRY T_T

Ailla was a walking bundle of nerves as she made her way to the sanatorium.  She couldn’t help but feel frustrated at herself for the anxiety she was feeling.  What was she so afraid of now?  The truth?  After all of these years, she was finally going to find out why her brother had abandoned her, and Cullen firmly believed that knowing this would bring her peace.

What if it didn’t bring her peace?  What if knowing his reasons only fueled her hate until the fire all but consumed her?

That was what she was afraid of.

She took the stairs down from the battlements to Skyhold’s courtyard.  Across from it was the sanatorium, its door already wide open.  Her stomach twisted with each step and she had to fight the urge to turn on her heel and run the other way.  

Suddenly, a voice boomed out of the sanatorium, causing her to halt in her tracks as she approached it.  “Find the Inquisitor.  NOW!”

 _What’s going on?_  A young mage emerged from the sanatorium in a sprint, his eyes darting every which way until they locked onto Ailla.  He looked even more panicked at the sight of her but he hurried across the courtyard toward her nonetheless.  

“Your Worship,” he rasped, trying to catch his breath.  “You must see Brother Alden at once.  Your brother… I’m so sorry, Your Worship, he’s been poisoned.”

 _Poisoned..?_  A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows as she gave a small shake of her head.  “What.. what are you talking about?”  Her mind was working slowly to register the news.  To the mage, she might have even looked calm.  That, or utterly shocked.  She felt her chest gripped at her heart, lodging it into her throat.

“Please, Inquisitor, Brother Alden will explain everything,” he said hastily, gesturing for her to follow him back to the sanatorium.

Ailla’s legs began moving without another thought.  She ran past the mage, her feet pounding against the ground below her.  She slowed to a jog as she approached the sanatorium and passed through the doorway.

There were eight beds in the room, all lining the west wall.  Each bed was separated by white curtains that hung from hooks drilled into the ceiling.  Brother Alden, Skyhold’s apothecary, stood at the far end of the room, at the foot of the last bed, rubbing a thin, aged hand again his forehead.  The curtain, however, kept the bed and its patient out of Ailla’s view.  Her pace slackened to a cautious walk as neared the back of the room.  Alden saw her approach and quickly turned to her, “Your Worship, wait, please-”

She ignored him, grasping the curtain and yanking it back.  Her hands flew to her mouth at the sight of him, her stunned cry muffled against her palm.  She hardly recognized him.  He looked so different, yet it was still Robert.  His hair was darker, and he’d grown a beard, which seemed to be recently shaven.  There were lines on his face where none used to be, due to age.  He had also put on a lot of muscles since he was twenty.  Perhaps Templar life just did that to a person.

But beyond that, his condition looked grim.

Robert lay still in the bed, his eyes closed, arms limply at his sides with his palms facing up.  The bandages that she assumed had been wrapped around his torso were now cut open, revealing where he had been stabbed.  Blood - so dark it nearly looked black - had congealed over the gash at his side, the skin around it a dark, murky purple.  Starting from the festering wound, his veins bulged out repulsively beneath his skin, creating a multitude of dark blue trails that snaked all over his body.  The rest of his flesh looked to be greying.

Ailla’s hands fell to her sides as she stared at him.  “How did this happen?” her voice came out quiet and gruff.

Alden wrung his hands together.  From the corner of her eye, she could see the distress lining his face.  “Your Worship, please accept my apologies.  The Commander informed me this morning that this man is your brother, and he.. the wound inflicted upon him by the assassin was from a poisonous blade.  His condition is.. We’re doing all we can but we’re not sure if he will make it through the night.”

Ailla swallowed.  Nightfall was only a few hours away.   _So.. he has less than a day?_  Her mind was beginning to reel now.  She ran her hand down the bottom of her face, her eyes darting around aimlessly before locking onto the apothecary.  “Why.. why wasn’t this discovered sooner?” she asked, her voice unintentionally rising.  

Alden cleared his throat.  He tried to gain some composure but his voice cracked as he answered,  “It’s a very sophisticated poison, Inquisitor, appropriately termed Quiet Death.  Its symptoms do not become prevalent until after several hours of being dosed.  Whoever concocted this batch made magical detection impossible.  Only moments ago, your brother.. started showing violent symptoms - muscle spasms, coughing up blood.  He seemed to have.. lost consciousness from the pain.”

_Quiet Death._

The creeping anxiety that she had been feeling for the past week was suddenly replaced by an immediate dread.  After all this time, her brother had finally made his way back into her life.  She wanted to know why he had abandoned her when she was so close to the brink of madness, why he had allowed her to hate him so much.  But suddenly, all of that seemed very small, like something plucked right out of sight and placed on some shelf to be dealt with later.  

Right now, Robert was dying, and her conversation with Cullen had made things very clear: whether she truly hated him or not, she didn’t want him dead.

Another thought struck Ailla like a stone fist to the solar plexus.  “Josephine.. What about Josephine?!”

* * *

 

Cullen left his office and headed to the war room, hoping to get a head start on their pursuit of Samson. He wanted the Inquisitor to be as prepared for that man as possible.  He strode through the great hall and entered through the doors leading to Josephine’s office.  At first, he noticed that Josephine wasn’t at her desk, which was peculiar at this time of the day.

That was when he saw her unconscious on the floor, beside the fireplace.

“Josephine!” Cullen cried as he hurried to kneel beside her.  He slipped an arm beneath her shoulders and gently lifted the top-half of her body off of the floor, letting the side of her head rest against his upper arm.  “Josie.  Josie, wake up.  Can you hear me?”

His jaw clenched as he noticed how pale her skin was.  The veins in her face, especially around her eyes, were grotesquely swollen.  Poison?  It had to be.  But how?  

Maker’s breath, the assassin!  

He brought his pointer and middle finger against her throat, just beside her windpipe.  Maker, please, no.  He couldn’t feel a heartbeat.  He leaned down and turned his head so his ear was right next to her nose and mouth.  A crushing relief washed over him as he heard the quiet huff of a frail exhalation.  Her pulse must have been extremely weak.

“I’m going to get you help, Josephine, just hang on,” Cullen muttered to her.  He tucked his other arm behind her knees and lifted her completely off of the floor, moving as fast as he could without jostling her too much.  

A collective gasp sounded in the great hall as he rushed through it.  Heads turned to watch him run.  He needed to get her to the sanatorium.  The apothecary had an abundance of medicines that could counteract this.  But would it be enough?  A thought occurred to him then. “Someone fetch Morrigan!” he roared.

“Oh shit.”  Varric.  Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw the dwarf break out into a sprint toward the garden.

Cullen’s heart slammed inside of his chest as he carefully climbed down the steps to the courtyard, quickening his pace into long strides once he was reached the ground.  He held Josephine tightly against him, continuing to mutter, “It will be alright.  It will be alright, I promise.”  Above him, a raven cawed, and he briefly turned his gaze up.  It flew ahead of him, descending as it approached the sanatorium.  

Morrigan.  Just as she neared the ground, a burst of black smoke engulfed her, tiny tendrils of white hot electricity dancing about the plumes.  The wind carried away the smog and revealed her in her human form.  Morrigan waited patiently for him to enter the sanatorium before following him inside.  

Just as he entered, he heard the Inquisitor cry, “What about Josephine?!”

“Here.  She’s right here,” Cullen answered her.

The Inquisitor whipped around, her eyes widened as they landed on Josephine’s unconscious form.   Brother Alden quickly moved to pull the curtain back away from the vacant bed next to Robert's.  Cullen gently placed Josephine on the bed, making sure a pillow was supporting the back of her head and neck.  He brought a hand lightly to her forehead.  Even through his leather glove, he could feel the intense heat emanating from her skin.  “She’s burning up,” Cullen told the apothecary.

The Inquisitor strode over to the other side of Josephine’s bed across from him, taking one of Josephine’s hands and squeezing it gently.  Cullen glanced up to look past her and saw Robert who seemed to be in the same ghastly state.  He watched as the Inquisitor ran her free hand through her hair, her face riddled with anxiety.  Her hand would have been trembling if she wasn’t gripping Josephine’s.  

Alden was at his station in the very back of the room, working with mortar and pestle to grind various herbs and ingredients together.  

“Move aside,” Morrigan ordered but she didn’t wait for the man to listen.  She shoved her way past Alden, and he stumbled to the side.  “What have you given him?” she asked him, nodding to Robert.  With a flick of her wrist, a number of glass bottles floated off of the shelves toward the mortar, tipping themselves to pour out the contents in careful measurements.

Alden shook his head, recovering from the sudden intrusion.   “A mixture of elfroot, concentration agents and distillation agents,” he answered hastily, his eyes darting from one floating vile to the other.  

“Good, but this man is a Templar.  Lyrium runs through his veins.  If we can just amplify its properties… Ah, here,”  Morrigan quickly sifted through the supplies on the shelf until she found a large jar filled with stones the hue of red and brown.  “Lifestones,” she muttered, before popping the jar open and scooping out a handful.  Her magic worked on its own, stirring in various liquids with the grounded ingredients that she had already mixed together.

Cullen's heart beat began to calm itself as he watched Morrigan work, relieved that he thought to involve her when he did.  Every second counted, and the sorceress really did know her antidotes. 

She picked up the mortar and handed it to Alden.  “Administer this to Josephine.  It should slow the effects.”  

“Can you save them?” the Inquisitor asked, her voice brittle and strained.

Morrigan looked over her shoulder at them, her expression hard.  “There is nothing more that you two can do here.  Give us room and let us work.”  Her gaze move briefly over to the door.  “I will inform you of any change in their conditions.”

Cullen saw the flicker of anger in the Inquisitor's eyes and could already hear the words _you'd better be fucking joking_ \- or something similar - forming at her lips.   She rounded on Morrigan, about to protest, and Cullen reached out across the bed to gently grabbed her hand.  She turned back and glanced at him then, the look in her eyes indignant.  “Come,” he said softly, “They will do all that they can.  We will only be a distraction if we remain here.”

He felt the slight tug of her arm, as if she meant to pull her hand away.  Cullen held her gaze steadily with his, giving her a reassuring nod.  After a moment of contemplative struggle, she yielded, her shoulders falling into a slump.  The Inquisitor glanced warily at her brother, then to Josephine, sighing deeply.

"Let's go," she whispered, keeping a grip on Cullen's hand as she moved to leave the sanatorium.

 

* * *

 

This had been the longest day of Ailla's life.  Varric had already informed Leliana and Cassandra about what happened, and now the four of them waited outside of the sanatorium together.  Cullen paced, as usual, and Cassandra kept busy with one of the sparring dummies.  Leliana stood beside the door, leaning back against the wall with her arms folded across her chest.  Her eyes were shadowed by her cowl.

Ailla sat back against the trunk of a nearby tree, one leg bent up and the other outstretched in front of her.  She rested an arm on her knee as she gazed up at the sky.  Stars.  The sun had set several hours ago and she lost track of how long it had been since midnight.  At this point, the sun could rise at any time.  Her stomach rumbled painfully.  She hadn’t eaten all day, and yet managed to still feel nauseous.

The night seemed colder than usual.

What had Solas taught her about meditation?  Close your eyes, breathe deeply and evenly, clear your mind?  Yeah, that wasn't working out for her.  She brought both knees to her chest now, entangling her fingers in her hair and burying her face in her lap.  She released a muffled scream.

Footsteps approached her.  The familiar clink of armor revealed it to be Cullen.  Ailla glanced up to see him holding out his hand, and she sighed, taking it without question.  He pulled her up onto her feet and right into a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head.  He must have known how calming it was when he stroked her hair because that was the very next thing he did.

Ailla wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his breast plate.  She kept seeing Robert behind her eyelids, unconscious in bed while the poison sapped all of the color from his skin.  Just the thought of it made her skin crawl.  "I didn't want this," she whispered.  "I didn't want this."  At any moment, Robert could be dead, and it sickened her.

Cullen's arms tightened around her.  "I know."

And Josephine.. She wanted to hunt down every Du Paraquette in Thedas and make them pay for this.  And then send Leliana’s men to slaughter the House of Ripose.  Both desires were completely unreasonable due to the circumstances but thinking about it quenched some of the fire inside of her chest.  She wanted someone else to blame, someone other than herself.  She should have made the right call.  Ailla cared about how Josephine felt but she would have had every member of the House of Ripose killed a million times over if it meant preventing this.

Josephine trusted Ailla for her help, for protection - and she failed.

Now all they could do was stand there and _wait_ for fate to decide.  Was it going to take both of them?  Or maybe just one?  Was it going to let them live and leave them severely crippled for the rest of their lives?

The door to the sanatorium opened, and both Morrigan and Alden emerged from the room.  Leliana pushed off of the wall and turned to them as Cassandra moved to join her.  Ailla pulled away from Cullen so she could get a good look at their faces.  Morrigan, as usual, remained cool and collected but Alden looked as uneasy as ever.  She slipped out of Cullen’s arms and jogged over to them, her heart in throat.

“Are they..?” she asked, her eyes moving restlessly from one to the other.

“Josephine will be fine,” Morrigan replied evenly.  

She heard Cassandra and Leliana both sigh in relief but Ailla felt her blood run cold.  If they were both okay, wouldn’t they say that outright?  Was Robert..?

Alden spoke up then, “Your brother’s condition has stabilized, Your Worship, but we weren’t able to extract all of poison.  His wound was much more severe than Lady Montilyet’s and therefore sustained more of the toxins.  We will need more supplies to guarantee his life.”

“Well, what do you need?” she asked hurriedly, stepping toward the man.  “I’ll leave to retrieve it now.”

“Felandaris,” Morrigan told her.  “It’s a rare plant that only grows near weak points in the Veil.  It is not easy to find but I came across some in Emprise Du Lion during my travels.  With luck, there may still be some growing there.  I was able to slow the poison down significantly but without the herb, he will not last longer than a couple of weeks.”

Ailla nodded earnestly, already backing away to head to the stables for her horse.  “Okay, I’ll go now.  How much do you-”

She felt a hand gently grasp the crook of her elbow, and she turned to glance at Cullen.

“You need rest, Inquisitor.”  Cullen stared at her solemnly, his eyes searching her face.  “The sun will be rising soon and you haven’t yet slept.”

Ailla blinked at him, almost not understanding his intent.  She let out a humorless laugh of disbelief.  “You can’t just expect me to stay here.”

“I will send Brycen and his men to retrieve the herb on our fastest steeds.”

For hours, she was teetering back and forth on the brink of hysteria, and Cullen somehow managed to shove her over the edge.  “He’s _my_ brother, _I_ have to see this through!”  Ailla yanked her arm out of his grasp, and she had to consciously ignore the hurt that flickered in his eyes.  “I need to leave _now._ ”

A scowl pulled up at Cullen’s lips, a sight that she was unaccustomed to seeing.  “Don’t be foolish!  You’re going to leave right this instant with just your weapons on your back and no supplies - alone?  You haven’t had any sustenance all day.  Emprise du Lion is at least a three-day ride from Skyhold, and that’s if you ride fast.  You’ll fall unconscious from exhaustion before you even get there.  Please, Inquisitor, just _think_ for moment.”  

As irate as he seemed, she heard the genuine plea in his voice, and it broke through her cloud of frustration.  She.. did plan on just leaving now.  Maker, what was she thinking?  She _wasn’t_ thinking.  All she had in mind was saving Robert’s life, and nothing else mattered, certainly not her health.  Suddenly, she felt embarrassed, feeling everyone’s eyes on the two of them.  It seemed that none of them saw fit to intervene or add their own word on the matter, as it was clearly a couple's spat.

She glanced away, pinched the bridge of her nose.  “I’m.. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Leliana spoke up.  “I will send a few ravens ahead to alert my people at Suledin Keep.  Perhaps they can gather the herb in the meantime so Brycen and his men will not have to take time to search for it.”

“Thank you,” Ailla breathed, regarding the Spymaster with gratitude.

She nodded and left.

Alden produced a handkerchief from his robes and wiped his forehead.  “If you will all excuse me, it has been a long day.  I will be retiring to my quarters.”  He walked over to Ailla and squeezed her shoulder. “I pray to the Maker that he will live, Your Worship.  He should be awake in the morning - in pain but awake - if you wish to speak with him.”

“Thank you both for everything,” she replied, her eyes shifting to Morrigan briefly as well.

“Of course, Inquisitor.  Try to get some rest."

“Brycen is already aware of the situation,” Cassandra informed them.  “I will give him an update and make preparations for his departure.”  

The group began to dwindle as everyone went their separate ways for the night, leaving Ailla and Cullen alone.  Ailla grasped at her upper arm, struggling to look Cullen in the eyes but forced herself to do so anyway.  He looked irritated yet relieved at the same time.  After a moment, he shook his head and breathed out a deep sigh before giving her her a small, reassuring smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, stepping closer to him.  “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.  I wasn’t.. thinking straight.  It’s just, he’s in there, suffering - _dying_ \- and I couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing.”

“I know. Believe me, I know,” he insisted.  He took her hand in his and stroked her knuckles gently with his thumb.  “You have the entire world on your shoulders right now, and what’s happening with your brother isn’t helping but.. I wish you would look out for yourself more.”

Ailla gave him a sheepish smile.  “Isn’t that your job?”

“So it is,” he chuckled.  “You will be retiring for the night, I hope?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the sanatorium and chewed on her bottom lip.  “I will but.. I want to stay with them.  I promise, I’ll get some sleep but I want to be there when they wake up.”

He nodded in understanding.  “Of course.  I will come by in the morning.  With a meal.”  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers.  “Goodnight, Inquisitor.”

And then he left.  With a sigh, Ailla walked into the sanatorium that was dimly lit with candles lining the east wall.  She stopped at the foot of Josephine’s bed and was relieved to see that she was back to normal - no more paleness or bulging veins.  A gleam of sweat coated her skin but otherwise, she looked to be sleeping peacefully.  Ailla made her way around the bed and carefully peeled the covers away from her arm so she could examine her wound.  It just looked like a thin cut.  Ailla felt her forehead with the back of her fingers - clammy but no longer burning.  

She trusted Alden’s and Morrigan’s word but it was relief to see for herself.  “I’m sorry, Josie,” she whispered, even though she knew that she wouldn’t be heard.

Ailla turned around then and pulled away the curtain that separated Josie’s and Robert’s beds.  He was a bit more worse for wear.  Well, a lot more, actually.  The sight of him made her stomach turn.  His pallor was persistent, and the swelling blue veins were still prominent on his face and around his eyes.  The remaining vein trails along his torso and arms had receded but lingered visibly beneath his skin.

She pressed her hand against his forehead.  Fevered.  Ailla clenched her jaw, her watery eyes narrowing into a glare.  “You’d better pull through this, you son of a bitch.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After doing some reading over and editing, I fear that this chapter may be a little dry. What do you think? My writing gets rusty so easily, lol. How do you guys like where the story is going? First argument, btw, yay! Haha. I'd love to know what you think. :) Thanks so much for reading, everyone!
> 
> ~ninjanna138
> 
> P.S. Follw me on Tumblr!: http://operation-firecobraclaw.tumblr.com. I'd love to do some prompts for you guys!


	19. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert is awake, and Ailla confronts him about his abandonment and his neglect over the many years, and the truth may be harder to hear than she first imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT UPDATE (8/12/15): User QueenHailey left a comment that had me thinking about Ailla's reaction to what Robert had told her and it just wasn't angry enough. So I edited that portion and turned it up a notch. If you've already read this chapter, please reread that section and then onward! I feel that this version is more appropriate for the tone I've been setting. Thanks for your help, QueenHailey!
> 
> Hey guys! Thanks again for reading. At this point in the story, especially now that the focal point has split between the development of the romance and Ailla's personal hardships, I really want to know what you guys think. Any feedback is appreciated and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

Cullen walked into the sanatorium, carrying a plate in each hand and balancing one on his forearm.   Each plate held a small loaf of bread, cuts of ham, and a steaming hot potato.  The cook insisted that she could send a servant to deliver the meals but Cullen insisted harder.  As he entered the room, he was pleased to see that Josephine was awake and looking well - much better, actually.  She was sitting up in bed, her back against the wall with.. a sprawl of paperwork laid out in front of her.

He raised an eyebrow as he approached her, setting down one of the plates on the small table beside her bed.  “Who let you get a hold of those?  I sincerely doubt Leliana would approve of you getting back to work so soon.”

Josephine brought a finger to her lips before nodding her head to the side.  Cullen’s gaze followed hers, and he saw Robert still unconscious in his bed and the Inquisitor sleeping in a chair beside him.  The Inquisitor was leaning forward with her arms folded across the mattress and her head resting atop them.  Her face was slightly turned to the side, strands of her hair falling carelessly in front of her eyes.  

“It’s been two hours since noon,” he commented, keeping his voice hushed.  He took light steps around Josephine’s bed so he could set down the remaining two plates on the other table next to Robert.

“She didn’t fall asleep until after the sun had risen,” Josephine told him, giving the Inquisitor a sympathetic glance.  “I believe she wanted to stay up until her brother awoke.”

Cullen sighed.  “That sounds about right.  How are you feeling, Josephine?”

“I’ve been better, as you can imagine.  But overall, I’m anxious.  Alden told me that he should have been awake by now.”  He could see the concern in her eyes as they shifted to Robert, whose chest seemed to barely move with his breathing.  His condition hadn’t changed at all overnight.  Josephine breathed out a heavy sigh as she folded her hands in her lap, casting her gaze downward.  “Despite all of this, he still saved my life.”

“I understand.  I hope he survives this as well,” Cullen added, folding his arms across his chest.  “Though perhaps my reasons are selfish.  It would.. well, in a way, it would devastate her.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Josephine nod in agreement.  “There would be many things left unsaid, I’m sure,” she replied.  “From what I can tell, she and her brother aren’t on the best of terms.”

“To say the least,” Cullen muttered.  He walked over to the Inquisitor and gently placed a hand on her back.  With how still and peaceful she looked, he wondered if she still had nightmares.  “Inquisitor.  Wake up, sweetheart.”  Well.  That slipped out.  He wasn’t sure where it came from - it just seemed appropriate.  He felt his cheeks flush and he avoided the need to glance over at Josephine, who undoubtedly noticed.  From his peripherals, he saw her return to work but not without holding back a smile.

The Inquisitor stirred as she released a quiet, tired groan.  She turned her head to face the other direction, away from Cullen, before burrowing further against her arms.  She remained asleep.

Cullen’s shoulders slumped.  “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

“Oh, it’s fine, Cullen,” Josephine chuckled.  “I’ll make sure she eats when she wakes up.  Go on, I know you have a lot of work to do.”

He eyed her disapprovingly.  “And _you_ have a lot of resting to do.”

Without another glance at him, Josephine gave him a dismissive wave of her hands before continuing to sift through the paperwork.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning his attention back to the slumbering Inquisitor.  The corner of his lips pulled up into a small smile.  Cullen bent down and softly kissed the top of her head, refusing to feel embarrassed about it - or trying, at least.  As he straightened up, his eyes shifted briefly to Robert, and Cullen hoped that he would be awake before the Inquisitor.

He could already see her pacing back and forth in a fit of anxiety if he didn’t wake up soon.

 

* * *

 

“Aills?  Ailla, hey, wake up.”

The quiet, raspy voice seeped into her slumber and slowly began to pull her out of it.  Ailla felt a hand rest upon her shoulder before it gently shook her.  She groaned, feeling disoriented as she slightly lifted her head to push her hair out of her face.  “What the…?”

“I thought you’d never wake up.”  That voice.. It was deeper, a little more gruff, but it was definitely Rob's.  Suddenly, she remembered where she was and what had happened the night before.

She instantly straightened up in her chair, staring wide-eyed at her brother who sat propped up on several pillows.  Robert gave her a weak wave of his hand, his lips pulled into a small smile.  “Hey.”

“Oh, Inquisitor, you’re awake!” Josephine exclaimed behind the curtains that closed off Robert’s bed from the rest of the room.  She tossed the curtains back, revealing herself to be up and about, fully dressed in her gold and blue silks.  In her hand was plate of food that she set down on the bed in front of Ailla.  “Cullen brought this for you.  Sadly, it’s grown cold.”

Ailla shook her head, her mind still working to recover from the long slumber she took.  As difficult as it was, she ripped her attention away from Robert to give Josephine a quick once-over.  “What in the Maker’s name are you doing out of bed?” she asked incredulously.

“Honestly, I’m fine, Inquisitor,” she said with a smile.

“You were poisoned!”

“And then thoroughly treated,” Josephine countered.  “Brother Alden said that I might feel a little bit dizzy for another day but beside that, I’m back to normal health.  Leliana gave me her seal of approval, if you can believe it.” She glanced at Robert apologetically.  “Not to.. parade my fortunate circumstances.”

Robert chuckled huskily.  “Perish the thought.  I’m fine.  Well, perhaps not _fine_ but I’ll say it in an attempt to ease your mind anyway.”

Josephine shook her head but returned his jest with a warm smile.

Cullen, Alden _and_ Leliana stopped by?  How long had she been asleep?  Ailla rubbed at her forehead, trying to calm her nerves.  She felt relieved to know that Josephine was back to normal but her entire being felt completely on edge with Robert not but one foot from her - awake yet still dying.  She inhaled deeply through her nose, releasing her breath in a huff.  “Alright, just.. take it easy, okay, Josie?  And I’d feel a lot better if you had Morrigan take a look at you as well.”

“If you insist,” she acquiesced.  “I will go see her now.”  She turned to face Robert then and stepped toward him.  “I wanted to thank you again for saving my life, Ser Robert.  Had it not been for you, I’d already be dead.”

With some effort, he leaned forward into a slight bow.  “It was an honor, Lady Montilyet.”

“Maker watch over you.”  With that, she left, leaving Ailla and Robert alone.

For awhile, they remained silent, never seeming to glance at each other at the same time.  Whenever Ailla shifted her gaze away, she could then feel his eyes on her.  It seemed that they were both having trouble with their little reunion.  Ailla sat uncomfortably still in her chair, staring down at her hands that were curled into fists in her lap.  

There were so many emotions bouncing around and colliding inside of her that she wasn’t sure which one to feel.  She was relieved to see that Robert was awake.. but the feeling of dread was still a solid rock in her stomach.  He was far from okay; his life was in Brycen’s hands, and he wasn’t due to return to Skyhold until a little over a week from now.  Was that enough time?  Still, the years of anger and resentment lived under that thick layer of worry, like a slumbering beast beginning to stir beneath the earth’s surface.

Robert was the first to speak.  “Maybe you should..”

Without giving it much of a thought, she lift her head and shot him an admonishing glare.

He raised his hands in front of himself in surrender.  “...eat.  ‘Maybe you should eat.’  That is all I was suggesting.”

Ailla opened her mouth, only to press her lips together a second later.  Somehow, _Don’t tell me what to do_ sounded very childish.  She clenched her teeth, her lips twitching as she suppressed a scowl.  She picked up the loaf of bread and tore a piece off with her teeth, chewing deliberately.  Damn, she was hungry.  But she resisted the urge to scarf down all of the food that was on her plate.  

“It’s.. good to see you, Aills,” Robert said.  His tone was careful, as if he was trying to tiptoe around the shattered glass that was basically their relationship.  “I hardly recognize you.”

“Well, it's been more than ten fucking years,” she muttered bitterly.

“Yeah...”  Robert ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  “Look, Aills, there’s a lot that you need to know, and some of it might be hard to swallow.”

Ailla abandoned her efforts, letting the scowl twist at her lips now.  She set the half-eaten loaf of bread down and pushed the plate away from her.  Suddenly, she lost her appetite.  She sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, eyeing Robert intently.  The beast had been roused from its slumber and was now trying to force its way to the surface.  Ailla made an effort to keep it contained for now - at least long enough for her to listen to what he had to say.  Maker knew how many unsaid words there must have been between them.

Robert rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish.  “I’ve been thinking about what to say for days.  Now that we’re here, I.. I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Oh?  Why don’t you start at the very beginning, when you decided to leave me behind with our psychotic, abusive parents?” she snapped.  A low growl rumbled inside of the beast’s chest.

Robert flinched and clenched his jaw.  Ailla tried to be as patient as possible, though it wasn’t working very well - she couldn't help her fingers drumming anxiously against her upper arm.  This is what she had been desperate to know.  What reason was good enough for him to abandon her like he had, to neglect her for all of those years?

“Okay, let’s start there then,” he agreed once he collected himself.  He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look Ailla in the eyes.  “I wanted a better life for us - _both_ of us.  But Father’s reach spanned farther across the Free Marches than I had ever imagined.  I always thought that maybe we could make a life in Denerim but we wouldn’t have made it halfway to Ferelden before being dragged back to Ostwick.”

Ailla felt her eyes narrow.  Okay.  This was news.  Robert had planned to take Ailla and flee to Denerim?  Robert eyed her carefully, as if he too knew that this information was unknown to her up until now.  Ailla never tried to run away, by Marly’s will.  But if she had…  how far would she have gotten?  Kirkwall?  Maybe she could have stowed away on a boat to Highever?  Her mind began to reel as she began listing her father’s influences and connections.  He was the Bann of Ostwick - a friend of the Teryn of Ostwick; Prince Vael of Starkhaven; Viscount Bran of Kirkwall and several other dukes and lords she probably didn’t know the name of.  

She doubted that her Father’s relations knew the depth of his depravity like Robert and Ailla did. She wouldn’t have gotten very far, it seemed.

Robert went on, “There was only one escape that I could think of, which was becoming a Templar.  I’d be playing right into their hands, of course.  That was what they wanted, after all, since the day I was born - a strapping young Templar son.  But at least this way, we could help those in need and never have to rely on our parents’ fortune or owe them a damn thing ever again.”

“‘ _We_ ’?”  Ailla clenched her fist as she started to feel some frustration settling in.  The beast beneath the earth began to push against the dirt and dregs that enveloped it, causing the surface above to crack.  “Pray fucking tell, how was you leaving to become a Templar supposed to help me?  How was that supposed to give _me_ a better life?”

“If you had received my letters, you would know the answer to that.”

His words hung in the air for a few moments before Ailla’s mind could absorb them. “Your.. letters?”

“Yes, my letters,” he confirmed, taking this opportunity to fortify his composure now that Ailla had been taken off guard.  “Now.. this is will be the part that’s going to be hard to hear, Aills.  Just.. bear with me, okay?”

She said nothing. _What letters..?_

“I wrote to you, every week for two years,” he continued, his tone starting to pick up hints of melancholy and bitterness.  “I never got a letter in return, and I thought, hey, maybe I deserved it for leaving you.  I could only imagine how much you must have hated me.  After a long while, I gave up and stopped writing.  It was clear that you wanted nothing to do with me anymore, and I had to accept that.  After hearing the rumors about you becoming the Inquisitor, I went home to see for myself but, of course, you had left.”

Ailla shook her head.  Her frustration peaked.  He wasn’t making any sense.  “I don’t.. understand.”  She brought a hand to her chest, her voice blurting out louder than she had intended, “ _I_ sent _you_ letters.  Every day, Rob.  But.. but you never wrote back!”

“I never got them,” he muttered brokenly, casting his gaze down at his hands now, “because Father intercepted all of our letters.”  He lifted his gaze to meet hers again, his eyes mirroring the same resentment that filled her own.  His features twisted with a growing scowl as he spoke, “He thought that keeping us apart would leave you vulnerable and more likely to obey him.  They always thought you the more deviant child..  When I returned home many months ago, I found the letters, mine and yours.  I.. couldn’t believe how many you wrote.  I’ve only read a few, so far.”

Robert was watching Ailla carefully, trying to gauge her reaction.  He started to look nervous, which was probably his response to her utterly flabbergasted and overwhelmed expression.  Ailla shook her head in disbelief, bringing a hand to her forehead as she stared wide-eyed at nothing.  Her mind spun in circles as it tried to wrap her head around this supposed truth.  Robert wouldn’t have any reason to lie to her about that, would he?  Her parents were vile people, and her father wasn’t above this sort of cruel and underhanded behavior.

When Robert spoke again, his voice was almost pleading, “I’m so sorry, Aills.  I just.. I want you to know that it wasn’t my intention to leave you there forever. I wanted so badly for you to join me, to get you away from that life.  When I first joined the Templars, I begged my Knight-Commander to take you in as well but you were far too young.  Brycen promised me that when you were older, he would reconsider, and only if becoming a Templar is what you truly wanted.  I wrote to you, telling you everything I planned.  Even so.. I’m sorry, Aills, I should have waited for you.  At the time, I thought.. no, it doesn’t matter.  I shouldn’t have left.”

Ailla stood up so suddenly that she knocked her chair back, sending it clattering to the floor.   _He.. wanted me to become a Templar?  A fucking Templar?_  The beast broke through the earth’s crust and released a feral roar into the sky.  

The words stumbled angrily out of her mouth without any real cohesion.  She took a step toward him, and it took every effort not to throw her fist into his face.  "That was.. you were going to.. _That_ was your plan?!  For me to join the _fucking Order_? Even after.. Maker, even after everything that's happened to me?!"

The beast snapped its teeth but only followed with a low growl, realizing that it had nothing to attack.  Robert didn't know.  If he hadn’t read her letters, then he couldn’t possibly know about Marlene, or what that Templar did, or her hate for the Order.  She wanted desperately to be furious with him, to lash out for trying to recruit her into a life that would have been far worse the living with her father.  But he didn't deserve that part of her anger - her parents did

Robert stared at her with wide eyes that flickered from her face, to her fist, then back.  He shook his head. "Aills, I.. I'm sorry, I don't understand."

That didn't let him off of the hook; she still had plenty of left over resentment that she could package up and send his way.  Tears of rage filled her eyes but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.  When she spoke again, she was sure that anyone outside close enough to the sanatorium could hear her.  "You know what - just fucking forget it!  Everything would have been different if you just hadn't fucking left.  None of it.. None of it would have happened!"

As the words came out, she knew them to be true.  Would she have even befriended Marly if Robert had stayed? The answer was no. Ailla didn't feel safe in her own home with Robert gone, which drove her to sneak out whenever she possibly could, and that was when she met Marlene. She took another deliberate step toward him and jabbed a finger into his chest.  "Father may have hid those letters but he wouldn't have needed to if you'd have just fucking stayed with me!"

The guilt in Robert's eyes only fueled her fire, and she had to step away and turn her back to him before she acted on her anger.  

_Allow me this question then, Inquisitor.  If you truly do hate him that much, then why would you regret it?_

Ailla scowled as Cullen's voice sounded inside of her mind.  Even with all of her rage, she managed to keep herself from doing what she would regret.  Damn it, she knew for certain she would regret it too.

Another thought occurred to her, making her sick to her stomach.  Did her father read the letters?  Did _he_ know what happened?  

She was feeling faint with fury.  “I can’t.. I can’t fucking listen to this anymore,” she hissed.  "I don't want to know why you left me behind.  Whatever the reason, it isn't good enough." For once, Cullen was wrong. This didn't bring her peace. Her fears were being realized, and she could only wait until the flames consumed her.

Without another word, she stormed out of the sanatorium, ignoring Robert as he called out to her.

Just as she was passing through the doorway, she rammed into someone who was on their way in but she didn’t stop.  She needed some cold, mountain air to get her thoughts straight.  

* * *

 

Cullen stumbled backward as the Inquisitor ran right into him and moved on without so much as a single glance.  He blinked as he watched her go, shaking his head in bewilderment before glancing briefly inside of the sanatorium.  Things hadn’t gone well, it seemed.

He jogged after her until he could walk beside her, matching her rapid stride.  “Inquisitor, are you alright?  Is.. your brother..?”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and shook her head.  “He’s.. yes, he’s awake.  And it’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“That’s clearly not true,” he pressed, feeling increasingly concerned with each step they took.  Cullen wanted to think that Robert being awake now was good news but it also seemed to have its adverse effects on the Inquisitor.  With the exception of the night before and despite every challenge the Inquisition has brought her, Cullen had never seen her in such distress.  Not even when she told her the truth about her past.

“Okay, I’m not fine.  Is that what you want to hear?” she snapped, stopping in her tracks and turning to him.  Her jaw muscles jumped beneath her skin as she clenched her teeth together.  She was.. incredibly angry.   

Cullen frowned as he faced her.  “No, of course not.  I just want to know if there’s anything I can-”

“There isn’t anything you can do to make this right, Cullen,” she interjected, her voice sharp but strangled.  As frustrated and upset as she appeared, her eyes were almost pleading.  She huffed out a sigh.   “Just.. I need to sort out my thoughts.   _Alone_.”

Her words buried deep into his chest, leaving behind a stinging ache.  Feeling completely useless never really sat well with him - and that was especially true when it came to the Inquisitor.  His eyes flickered briefly to her hands that she had clenched into fists at her side.  They were shaking.  With some effort, Cullen yielded, knowing that pressing any further would only result in augmenting to her stress.  “If you need anything,” he said gently, “Anything at all…”

She nodded curtly but said nothing more as she turned her back to him and took purposeful strides toward the gates of Skyhold.

Cullen stood there for a moment, massaging at the back of his neck as the familiar pain twisted at his muscles.  The withdrawal was becoming easier to handle as the days went on but there were times when stress would get the better of him, and his tolerance would dwindle until the pain was yet again crippling.  He was thankful for the warm moments he shared with the Inquisitor; her presence always managed to bring him a sort of peace, a reminder that he wasn’t going through this hardship alone.  He could ignore the pain then, almost as if it wasn’t there.

But in moments like these, when Cullen was unable to do anything for the Inquisitor, the anxiety crept up on him, as did the pain.  As he stared at the spot where he had last seen the Inquisitor before she disappeared through the gates, he facetiously wondered to himself if this woman would literally be the death of him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! One think I wanted to ask is if Robert's explanation made sense. I know it's easy for me to write out something and think it makes complete sense, but that's obviously because I've planned it out and thought about it. As the reader, did this particular background fit for you? Let me know! If I need to do some tweaking, I'd be happy to do so. :)
> 
> ~ninjanna138


	20. Sibling Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were many words left unsaid, and most of them were in letters that were never read.
> 
> Mia writes to Cullen again prying about Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is a pretty short chapter but I wanted to try something new. This will definitely give you some insight on just how messed up Robert and Ailla's relationship has become. I hope you like it! As always, any feed back or critique is welcome. Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~ninjanna138

_Dearest Ailla,_

_I want you to know first and foremost that I love you more than anything in the world.  Even with all of our wealth and riches, life has never been easy for us - not with Father and Mother.  But I think I’ve found a way out for us.  I am sorry that I left.  You must be afraid and confused but I know you will understand someday why I am becoming Templar.  It sounds mad, doesn’t it?  Me, joining the Order?  It makes me feel ill just thinking about being one of the Chantry’s lap dogs._

_On the other hand, it would be foolish to ignore the good things that some Templars do.  They may serve a god that we do not believe in but they also keep people safe, people who cannot protect themselves.  Templars are strong and without fear.  That can’t be so bad, can it?_

_I know how you feel about them, how they take mages to the Circle, even if they’re children.  It seems wrong.  It feels wrong.  They worship this all-seeing Maker, yet oppress those that he himself made special.  It is all so incredibly foolish.  Maybe someday, there will be another way.  The Circle can’t be the only answer.  But until then, I have to accept that perhaps the Order is only trying to take the safest route possible, and in doing so, they protect those who need it._

_Even as I’m writing this, I feel like I’m lying to myself.  But it has to be a better life than living with Mother and Father.  It just has to be, and I’m going to see for myself._

_I want to take you with me now but Knight-Captain Brycen says you are far too young.  I begged him recruit you.  Fear not, little sister.  I will come back for you.  Even if the life of a Templar isn’t what is best for you, I will search every horizon for a life that you can live in happiness and without fear.  I will not be able to do that living with Father._

_Living alone with Father and Mother will be difficult - I know that.  But I also know that you will be the stronger for it.  I believe in you, and I hope that you believe in me too, little sister._

_It is my deepest hope that you do not resent me for this.  Just know that I will return.  Whether that is sooner or later, I will come back for you.  Keep me in your thoughts, and you will never be alone.  I will keep you mine, always._

_Your Brother,_

_Robert_

_P.S.  Mind your lessons with Edith.  Do your best and write back when you can.  Edith will know where to send your letters._

* * *

 

_Dear Rob,_

_Are you coming home soon?  Two months past already.  I miss you a lot._

_Dad is mad that you left.  He broke mummy's vase and she ~~cryed~~ cried._

_How come you want to be a ~~templer~~ Templar?  They are bad people because they hurt mages.  I hope you dont hurt the mages._

_please ~~rite~~ write back and come home soon.  i love you._

_Your sister Ailla_

* * *

 

_Dearest Ailla,_

_How are you?  I have yet to receive a letter from you.  I must admit, that worries me deeply.  It has been a few months now and many letters later, and I have still not heard from you._

_I know that you must be upset with me.  I would be upset too if I was in your position.  I am sorry, and I would understand if you need more time before you write back to me.  I look forward to hearing from you, Ailla, and I miss you dearly._

_Training to become a Templar is still as difficult as ever.  I spend long days training physically and even longer nights studying and chanting.  You will not believe how incredibly boring that is.  I have finally learned how to wield a longsword and shield but I am still not very good at it - not yet anyway.  It is nothing like fighting with dirks.   I am unable to move fast while carrying a shield.  It will take some time to get used to it._

_Do you still have those daggers I gave you?  If you do, I hope you have kept them hidden.  Father would lose his temper if he found out that you had those.  Keep practicing if you can.  You never know when you will need to use them, though I hope you never do._

_It hurts me to say this, little sister, but I might not return as soon as I would have hoped.  The training is rigorous and according to the senior recruits, it may take years before I can make my final vows.  Until then, I cannot leave the Hasmal Chantry.  Please do not worry.  I promised - I will come back for you._

_When you are ready, write back to me.  I want to know if you are okay._

_Love,_

_Robert_

* * *

 

_Rob,_

_Three years.  Is Templar life so busy that you have not been able to write me a single letter for three years?  How many letters do I have to write to get your attention?  What do I have to say?_

_Marlene has been taken to the Circle. The only ~~friend~~ family I have and now she is gone.  I didn't say anything before in fear that someone else might receive this letter beside you, but yes, she is mage.  Ironic, isn't it?  The only person who has ever been there for this sad Trevelyan is a mage?_

_What about you, Rob?  Are you still my family?  Do you still love me?  Dad has gotten letters from you.  So has Mum.  But not me?  I need you, Rob.  When are you coming home?  Are you ever coming home?_

_Things have happened.  I can’t tell you what.  It hurts too much.  Everything hurts.  Please, if you still love me, write back.  It doesn’t have to be a long letter.  Just something.  I need my big brother.  Now more than ever._

_Your sister,_

_Ailla_

* * *

 

_Ailla,_

_I could have never imagined that you would remain angry with me for this long.  Life must be incredibly difficult for you since I left, and I am so sorry.  I cannot help but feel that you may hate me by now for not having come home.  I was hoping you would have responded to my last letter, letting me know if becoming a Templar is what you wanted.  Ser Brycen wants an absolute answer from you before he even considers doing an assessment of you.  He cannot afford to recruit someone whose heart is not completely dedicated to the cause._

_Perhaps life has improved back home?_

_I will be taking my final vows tomorrow night, marking my seventh and last year as a Templar recruit.  Tomorrow night, I will become a full-fledged Templar Knight.  In a few weeks, I can finally travel and see what is out there for us - for you._

_Do you still want that?  Please, Ailla, you have to give me something to work with here.  This cold silence from you is so wearing, and I miss you very much.  There is not a day that goes by that I do not think about you and how you are fairing._

_What is it that you want?  Do you even want me to come home?  Do you not need me anymore?  I suppose you haven’t needed me for years now…_

_Ailla, if you want me to come home, write back to me, please.  If you don’t write back, I can only assume that you no longer need me, and I suppose I can't blame you.  It hurts to think that.  I still love you, Ailla.  That will never change._

_I am sorry for everything._

_Love,_

_Robert_

* * *

 

_Rob,_

_I didn’t want to have to tell you this but you have left me no choice.  I am desperate.  I need somebody, anybody.  I’m going crazy.  I feel so alone and there’s nothing that I can do about it.  I train every day with the blades that you gave me, thinking that it might make me stronger but I am always afraid.  I am so angry all the time and sometimes I think I hate you._

_How can you leave me like that?  How can you ignore me for so many years?  I thought you loved me.  You told me before you left that you were going to come back.  Where the hell are you?_

_My hands are shaking.  I am crying and I can’t stop.  I didn’t want to but I am going to tell you everything.  Maybe then you’ll talk to me.  Does it really have to take this for you to talk to me again?_

_Five years ago, I told you Marlene was taken to the Circle.  It was my fault.  She used her magic to save me from a few street thugs, and they alerted the Templars.  They dragged her away, just like everyone else._

~~_And then a Templar_ ~~

~~_There were two Templars.  One stayed behind and_ ~~

_One of the Templars attacked me.  He tore off my clothes and forced himself inside of me.   He cut into my neck with a blade and left me scarred. He called me a mage sympathizer.  Do you Templars hate mages that much?  It was the worst pain I have ever experienced.  Worse than anything Father has ever done, and you should know by now how many times that crazy fucking fanatic has put his hands on me._

_I met an apostate a couple years back who told me Marlene was made Tranquil, and then killed herself.  She fucking killed herself, Rob.  The apostate told me that becoming Tranquil was a fate worse than death.  How could anyone be okay with doing that to another person?  To take away what it means to be human, to feel, to love?  I can’t blame her for taking her own life and I hate Templars all the more for it._

_That really fucked me up, Rob.  Is this enough to get your attention now?  Will you finally come find me?  Write to me?  Anything?  Sometimes, I am overwhelmed with how much hate I feel, and I don’t know if I can make it another day._

_This is the last time I will write to you if I don’t hear back from you soon.  I’m done waiting for you.  I should have given up long before this.  I guess that shows how much of a fool I am to have believed you for so long.  If you don’t write me, just don’t come back.  I never want to see you again, ever.  I’d rather you be dead.  That would be the only good reason for your failure as an older brother._

_Ailla_

 

* * *

 

_Cullen,_

_You never responded to my last letter.  I told you not to stop writing!  How are things in the Inquisition?_

_Oh, who am I kidding?  I really just want to know about you and the Inquisitor.  You made your move, right?  Tell me you made your move.  It would be wonderful to have another sister!  I can imagine your face right now - I am only joking anyway.  Partly._

_It has been awhile so I won’t believe you if you tell me nothing has happened since the last time you wrote me.  Give me details!  Unless you really did not tell her how you feel - then I will be upset with you._

_We are still doing fine here.  Rosalie says she misses you dearly.  Once this Inquisition business is over, please come by and visit us.  We miss seeing your serious Cullen face._

_Your loving sister,_

_Mia_

* * *

 

_Mia,_

_You are impossible.  You know that, right?  I would rather not go into explicit detail but I suppose telling you some of what happened will not hurt.  Maybe then you will leave me alone about it..._

_She and I have become very close, beyond friendship.  I can imagine your face now.  The Inquisitor really is an amazing woman.  I ~~truly don’t believe I ever really stood a chance against my feelings for her.~~  I found myself wanting to be there for her, always.  Being the Commander of the Inquisition has brought me many hardships, and I can only imagine how much more weight she has to carry being the Inquisitor._

_There was a particular day when the absence of lyrium plagued me more than usual.  Please don’t fret when I say that, and don’t tell Rosalie or Branson.  I know they worry enough about it.  I was in a lot of pain, and the Inquisitor comforted me.  I was going to step down from my position but she convinced me to stay.  I have never seen such compassion and warmth._

_From that day forward, we became more than comrades.  She felt the same way about me, surprisingly.  I know that isn’t nearly enough detail for you but all that you really need to know is that I am happy, Mia.  For the first time in a long time, I am genuinely happy._

~~_I cannot believe I am asking you this but would you be able to impart some wisdom?  The Inquisitor has had an incredibly tumultuous past, and some of that has come back to burden her.  She has been in a constant turmoil since.  I want to be there for her but she tells me there isn’t anything that I can do to help.  I feel useless.   I am at a loss.  What can I do?_ ~~

_I am glad to hear that you are all well.  I will try to visit as soon as I am able.  In the mean time, I will try to write to you more._

_Love,_

_Cullen_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm hoping the letters seemed genuine. Let me know what you think!
> 
> I do want to clear a few things up about ages, since I haven't been very clear on that thus far.
> 
> Currently in the story, Ailla is 24 and Robert is 30. Robert left when Ailla was 10, so it's been 14 years since they have last seen each other. Robert's last letter to Ailla was when she was 17. Ailla wrote her last letter to Robert when she was 18. If there are any inconsistencies, I apologize but that's what I'm going with! I hope that clears some things up.


	21. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt has caught up with Ailla after reading Robert's letters, and she decides that it may be time to make amends.
> 
> Cullen is feeling on edge after the week-long silence between him and the Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: So, I forgot to note in the last chapter that I had made edits to Chapter 19. If you read that chapter before I made the edits, please go back to that chapter and read the suggested section! Thanks!
> 
> Yay! Over 100 kudos! ^_^ I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It was just really fun, haha. Sorry if it's kind of choppy. There was a lot of dialogue I wanted to get out! Let me know what you think of Robert and Ailla's conversation! As always, any feedback is welcomed! Thanks for reading!

Ailla wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting at her desk, staring at Robert’s letters.  A messenger had delivered them to her this morning, and she just finished reading them all.  There must have been over a hundred of them, layers upon layers of parchment covering every inch of the desk’s surface.  It had been a week since she spoke to Robert and she hadn’t gone back to see him.  She was too angry.  And guilty.  Damn it, she was guilty.

But why?  She had every right to be furious with him.  He deserved to hear every word that she had said to him that day.  Right?  Ailla ran a hand through her hair as she sat back in her chair, her eyes still glued onto the first letter Robert ever wrote to her after he left.  

_I want you to know first and foremost that I love you more than anything in the world._

She slammed her first against her desk, gnashing her teeth together.  Liar.  Liar!  If he loved her, he wouldn’t have left.  

_I will search every horizon for a life that you can live in happiness and without fear.  I will not be able to do that living with Father._

The guilt gripped at Ailla’s heart and she cried out in frustration, sweeping her arms across her desk and sending the letters flying.  They remained suspended in the air for just a short moment before cascading to the floor.  Ailla planted her elbows on her knees and rested her head in both of her hands, breathing out a defeated sigh.    How could her resentment turn to guilt so easily?   

_I still love you, Ailla.  That will never change._

Robert still loved her.  Even though he was sure that Ailla hated him, he still found it in his heart to love her.  Even though he too felt neglected by his sister, that did not diminish how much he cared for her.  Ailla could not say the same.  She spent a good portion of her life hating him and for something that wasn’t even his fault.

But he left her.  Didn’t that mean anything?  If he had only stayed with her, the horrors in her past would have never happened. She would have never met Marly and…

 _Damn it_.  Maker damn it!  How could Ailla think that way?  Even after what that Templar did to her, she could never regret meeting Marlene, no matter what the circumstance.  Marlene wanted to use her gifts to help people and nothing more.  She was Ailla’s saving grace in a time when she thought she had no one.  How could anyone want to take back meeting a benevolent soul like hers?

She needed to apologize.  As much as Ailla wanted to deny it, Robert couldn’t be held responsible for the things that happened to her after he left.  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she breathed through her teeth.

Robert wasn’t the only one she owed an apology to.  She hadn’t said a word to Cullen outside of Inquisition matters since she snapped at him that day.  The look on his face had seared itself into her mind and she couldn’t quite rid herself of it.  She had stomped all over his efforts when he was only trying to help.  Ailla could only assume that he was upset with her, as he hadn’t made any attempts to speak to her either this past week.  

With a final sigh, she scooted her chair back and stood up, pinching the bridge of her nose.  With the smog of anger finally clearing from her mind, she could see how selfish she was being.  Robert was dying.  Brycen would return today or tomorrow with the proper remedy but that didn’t erase the fact that Robert was still literally on his death bed until then.  Morrigan seemed certain that this herb would save his life but who really knew?  

Whatever resentment she felt toward him was due to her believing he no longer loved her, and that simply wasn’t true.  She knew that now.

_Maker, I have to make things right._

* * *

 

Ailla creaked open the sanatorium door and peeked inside.  The sunlight spilled through the window on the far side of the room, casting Robert’s silhouette against the white curtain that encircled his bed.  He was sitting up, leaning forward as he stared down at something he was holding in his hand.  She slowly approached the foot of his bed, hesitating for only a moment before pulling the curtain back.

Robert had his hand pressed tightly against his mouth as his stared through watered, horrified eyes at the piece of parchment in his hand.  He was trembling.

“Rob,” Ailla gasped.  She didn’t need to see what was on the paper to know exactly what he was reading.  The guilt felt crushing now.

She stepped toward Robert and reached out to him but halted as he suddenly closed his hand into a fist, crushing the parchment under his fingers.  He hung his head low as his shoulders slumped over and brought his fist to his forehead, the letter crinkling under his grip.  A sob shook his entire upper body as it burst out of his chest.

Ailla swallowed hard, feeling frozen where she stood.  She slowly pulled her hand away, pressing it against her chest.  “Rob,” she whispered.

“Aills.”  His voice came out strangled.  If Ailla hadn’t known any better, she would have thought he was being tortured.  “I had no.. I’m.. Oh, Maker, forgive me.”

Her jaw clenched as she stared him, the words she had written in that letter slowly crawling through her mind like a parasite. _I never want to see you again.  I’d rather you be dead_.  Regret gnawed at her insides.  Seeing him like this now, would she have felt so remorseful earlier this morning, before reading his letters?  She wasn’t so sure.  But, in any case, she had no doubt in her mind that Robert would have blamed himself as soon as he found out about what happened.  And then Ailla had to go and make him believe that she too blamed him.

_Damn it._

“Robert, I.. This isn’t your fault,” she said, quickly pulling up a chair so she could sit at his bedside.  She reached out and gently took his free hand between both of hers, tilting her head to the side so she could see his face.  His eyes were squeezed shut as he clenched his teeth tightly together.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said the things that I said.”

“No..  You’re right..” he whispered, turning his face away from her.  “If I hadn’t left… If I..”

Ailla shook her head, not that he could see it.  When she spoke again, she could hear the plea in her voice,  “I was wrong, Rob.  Sure, things might have been different but none of what happened was your fault.  Please, look at me.”

Hesitantly, he let his fist fall to his lap and slowly uncurled his fingers.  When he turned to look at her, she could see that his eyes were red and glossed over.  She flinched and cast her gaze downward, unable to look at him now, although it made her feel hypocritical.

“I did.. hate you,” she muttered but hastily added, “but that’s only because I thought you didn’t love me anymore.  I thought you just up and left and... forgot about me.  Obviously, that isn’t true.”  Ailla took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his gaze again, her eyes beginning to sting with the threat of tears, “The only thing I can fault you with is leaving, and if you hadn’t.. well, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?  I also would have never met..”

“..Marlene,” he finished quietly, and the corner of his lips tugged up into the slightest smile.  “The way you described her..  I wish I’d known her too.”

Ailla nodded slowly, feeling her throat tighten, and she had to blink back the tears that were starting to build.  She let out a strained chuckle, “Yeah.. she was the best of us, Rob.  I wish..” she sighed heavily, “She deserved better.”

Robert glanced away from her, and she could tell he was struggling internally for a response.  He was a Templar, after all.  Could he even agree with Ailla that Marly deserved better?  Did he still hold the same beliefs that he had before he became a Templar?  Had it been a different time or a different place, it could have been Robert taking Marlene away to the Circle.  At the very least, it was clear that Robert hadn’t been hardened by Templar life, and that comforted her.  There was still kindness in his eyes.

She moved on from the subject of Marly, unsure of how long she could keep the tears from falling,  and instead turned to a feeling she was much more accustomed to.  “I’m going to kill that old man,” she muttered, feeling her chest tighten with the flare of her temper.  

“Believe me,” Robert chuckled huskily through his teeth, “I almost did.”

The familiar hate she felt for her father began to boil her blood the longer she thought about him.  Again, it occurred to her that he might have read her letters to Robert, and she felt her stomach twist.  “Hey, can I ask you something?

“Anything, Aills.”

“Did.. Father read the letters?”  As soon as the words came out, she wanted to gather them up and stuff them back into her mouth.  She actually didn’t want to know.

Robert’s eyebrows rose and he stared at her wide-eyed.  Apparently, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.  He anxiously stroked his chin.  “Maker, I.. I honestly don’t know.  I didn’t think to ask - I was so angry.  You don’t think he did, do you?  Did he say anything to you?”

She breathed out a humorless chortle, staring down at her hands as she pulled them gingerly away from Robert’s and rested them in her lap.  “That’s the sad thing, I think.  I don’t think he would have said something even if he did read them.”  Ailla shook her head and shoved the thought away.  It was quite possible that she was unearthing the potential for a real relationship with her brother, and she wasn’t going to ruin it by talking about their vile father.  

She took another deep breath and leveled her gaze with Robert’s again.  “Robert, we’re good.  Okay?  I’m sorry for what I said before.  I was angry… really angry.  And what I said in the letter.. If I’d only received yours letters.. I would have never written those things.”

“It's okay, Aills." After a brief pause, he asked quietly, "So you forgive me?” His voice was so filled with hope that it nearly hurt.

She couldn’t feel angry at him anymore, not even if she wanted to.  A new beginning was sitting right in front of her and she couldn't turn it away.  She gave him a small but reassuring smile.  “There’s nothing to forgive, Rob.”

He returned her smile, and for a moment, they didn’t say anything.  Ailla wondered if he was thinking the same thing - she had her brother back, and he had his sister.

Heavy footsteps could be heard entering the sanatorium, followed by two other pairs.  Brycen came into view with Morrigan and Alden right behind him.  He crossed his arms over his chest before nodding to Ailla.  “Inquisitor.”

Ailla couldn’t help her shoulder slumping with relief.  “Ser Brycen.”

Brycen turned his chin up as he regarded Robert.  “Ready to get off your ass and start being useful again?”

He shot his Knight-Commander a toothy half-grin.  “You know you missed me.”

* * *

 

Cullen made his way to Herald’s Rest.  He was reluctant give himself any down time, especially when they were so close to catching up with Samson, but Josephine insisted.  Brycen had returned yesterday morning and with Robert’s speedy recovery, Josephine wanted to celebrate.  What were her exact words again?   _This experience has given me some perspective.  Who knows how much time we really have with one another.  We should spend some of it together, yes?  Outside of Inquisition business?_

Cullen chuckled to himself, wondering whether or not a little down time with her colleagues was really her only intention.

He and Leliana had been in the war room together this morning, waiting for their meeting to start.  The Inquisitor, Morrigan and Josephine hadn’t yet arrived.  

Leliana was the first to break their silence, bringing up an interesting query.  “Have you noticed that Josie has been spending quite some time in the sanatorium lately?”

Cullen was pacing, reading a report he had in his hand as he stroked his chin with the other.  Half-listening, he muttered in return, “Well, she should be resting.”

He heard her scoff and glanced up at her.  Her arms were folded across her chest, an eyebrow raised expectantly.  “I mean she’s been spending quite some time with the Inquisitor’s brother.”

“Oh.”  He rolled the thought around in his mind for a moment before giving a small shrug.  “He did save her life.  Perhaps she simply wanted to show him her gratitude.”

Leliana’s eyes widened, and she abruptly brought her arms to her sides.  The look on her face was indignant.

Cullen stared at her, puzzled, before realizing what he’d said.  He felt his cheeks fill with heat.  “Maker’s breath, Leliana, that’s not what I meant!”  He huffed out a sigh, craning his neck as he rubbed at his shoulder.  “In any case, I don’t believe it’s a cause for concern.”

“She’s known the man a week and wants to throw him a party?”  

“Josephine said she just wanted us to have a small get-together with everyone - that’s all.”

“Yes, and you are the King of Ferelden,” she countered, her words thick with sarcasm.  “Morrigan told me she was in the garden yesterday arranging flowers for him.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, setting down the report.  “Alright, let’s assume your suspicions are correct.  What is the crime in Josephine being attracted to someone?”

The Spymaster exhaled a heavy sigh, leaning back against the war table.  “Josephine is no stranger to courtly intrigue.  But love?  There she is an innocent.”

“Love?”  Cullen gave her a series of incredulous blinks.  “As you said, she’s only known the man a week.”

“You don’t know her like I do.  Her heart is easily carried away, and I want to be sure it’s taken by someone who truly cares.”

Cullen sighed.  He didn’t think Leliana was giving Josephine enough credit but he kept that thought to himself.  It didn’t seem like anything would turn the Spymaster’s eagle-eyes away from the Inquisitor’s brother.  “Robert has just recovered.  Go easy on him, will you?”

“No promises.”  She finally seemed to move on from the subject, absentmindedly pacing around the war table with her hands clasped behind her back.  Just as Cullen was about to continue his overview of the report, she spoke up again, “Has the Inquisitor made amends with her brother?”

“I’m not sure.  We haven’t..” he frowned, “..talked much since he woke up.”  Cullen felt his mood slump in an instant.  He didn’t want to badger the Inquisitor with constant questioning of how she was holding up but, at the same time, he'd hoped she would have confided in him by now.  Was she avoiding him?  Maybe there really wasn’t anything he could do but he at least wanted to be some sort of comfort to her.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly in frustration.  It was selfish of him to focus on how her suffering made him feel.  She just needed time and space to sort her thoughts out, and he would give her that, however long she needed.  

Cullen opened the door to the tavern now and saw that Cabot really had his work cut out for him.  Nearly all of the tables on the ground floor were occupied and each chair at the bar was taken.  It was a lot noisier than he would have hoped and he had to suppress the need to turn around and head back to his office.  He wasn’t very accustomed to.. such an environment.

“Cullen, over here!” Bull called from one of the bigger tables in the back corner of the room.  “I got your drink ready for ya!”  The Inquisitor, Dorian, Krem, and Sera were with him, enjoying a boisterous conversation.  The Inquisitor tossed her head back, laughing at something Dorian said and, for some reason, the sight made Cullen’s chest tighten.  She seemed to be in a much better mood...

He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders before heading over to the table.  There was an empty chair between the Inquisitor and Sera, and that just made him downright nervous.  Cullen always kept his guard up around that rambunctious elf.  His gaze swept over the room and he immediately noticed Josephine and Robert at the bar, engaged in a conversation of their own.   _Interesting…_ He spotted Hawke and Varric laughing by the fireplace while Leliana sat in silence, enjoying the bard’s song.

Upon his approach, the Inquisitor kicked the chair back, scooting it out for him.  Her face was a bit flush, and he noticed the four mugs in front of her - three empty, the fourth nearly finished.  She gave him a small, sheepish smile but nodded for him to sit.  

“Good evening, everyone,” he greeted as he took his seat.

“‘Good evening, everyone,’” Sera mocked in a low, gruff voice.  She giggled in the same maniacal way she always did.  “Get tha’ stick outta your arse, will ya?!”   The elf slid a mug of ale his way, and Cullen glanced inside of it before eyeing her suspiciously.  She scoffed, “I di’n’t do anything to it!”

Krem spoke up then, “Don’t worry, Commander.  She’s telling the truth.  Enjoy yourself.”

He sighed, accepting the possibility that Sera may not be messing with him for once.  He took a large swig of the ale, enjoying its warmth as it traveled down through his chest and settled into his stomach.  He hoped the alcohol would soon calm his nerves which were, for some reason, on end at the moment.  Perhaps it was because this was the closest to a casual encounter he’s had with the Inquisitor all week.  Everything seemed to be alright now, and that should have been a good thing.

Cullen just didn’t like being kept out of the loop.

“A dragon’s been spotted in Crestwood,” Bull began excitedly.  “We’re heading back there soon, right?  To meet your Warden friend?”  He slammed his fist down onto the table, making some of the occupants jump in their seats.  “We’re goin’ a-dragon hunting, right?!  Boss?!”

The Inquisitor laughed.  “Uh, yeah!  But _I_ call the scales this time.”

Bull frowned.  “I was going to have Harritt make a new helm for me!”

“You got a whole set of armor from the last dragon!”  She argued before finishing off her fourth mug.  She set it down loudly on the table and stood up abruptly, nearly knocking her chair over.  When she spoke again, her words came out slightly slurred, “I know - I'll fight you for it!”

Iron Bull shook with raucous laughter.  “Bring it on!”

Some of the soldiers in the tavern hooted their encouragement, and Cullen could have sworn he heard Cassandra somewhere groan, “Not again.”

Cullen cleared his throat, reaching up and gently grasping her upper arm.  “Erm.. Inquisitor?  Perhaps starting a drunken bar fight with a large qunari mercenary isn’t the wisest course of action.”

She seemed to ponder that for a moment before sitting back down.  With a sigh, she leaned over to the side to rest her head on his shoulder.  “I s’pose you’re right..”

He shook his head and chuckled, taking another deep drink from his mug.  He thought about placing his arm around her so he could pull her closer but decided against it.  Public displays of affection just weren’t his strong suit.

“‘Inquisitor?’” Sera piped up, mocking Cullen once again.  “You still call her ‘Inquisitor’?  Andraste’s heavenly arse, is tha’ what you call out in bed?”

Cullen choked on his ale.  He gripped the table and turned away from the group as the alcohol burned the walls of his throat, causing a violent fit of coughs that he tried to subdue with a hand against his mouth.  Dorian and Bull collapsed into each other, lost in laughter, while the Inquisitor bolted up in her seat, pressing her hands on either side of her deeply reddened face that mirrored Cullen’s.

“Sera!” she cried, completely flustered, as she quickly glanced over her shoulder.

As his coughs died down, Cullen followed her gaze until his eyes fell on Robert, who seemed too busy with his conversation with Josephine to notice the racket behind him.  

“He doesn’t know about us!” she whispered - though it was more like a loud hiss of words - as she looked back at Cullen with wide, panicked eyes.  She folded her arms across the table and buried her face into them, groaning with embarrassment.

Cullen stared at her, bewildered.  Wasn’t she furious at Robert?  Now she was worried about him knowing that she and Cullen were involved?

“Why don’t you take her up to her room, good sir?” Dorian suggested through his tearful chuckles.  “She may have had enough for the evening.”

Cullen nodded, glad to have a good excuse to leave. He stood up from his seat and gently placing a hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder.  “Inquisitor.”  He ignored Sera’s snicker.  “I’ll help you to your room.”

She slowly raised her head, her eyes already lidded with drowsiness.  “Nnkay..”  She stood up from her chair and latched onto Cullen’s upper arm, allowing him to escort her carefully across the room toward the exit.

“Night, Boss!”

“Peaceful slumber, my sweet Trevelyan!”

Just as they were passing the bar, Robert turned in his seat and nodded to both of them.  “Night, Aills.  Take it easy.”

“Mm.”  The Inquisitor gave him a warm, sleepy smile.

_Maker, what is going on?_

“Do have a good night, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, “You too, Cullen.”

They finally made it outside, and Cullen felt an immense relief wash over him.  The tavern simply just wasn’t his place, especially not with Sera around.  Her lewd jest echoed inside of his mind and he felt his cheeks fill with heat again. He had enough trouble distracting himself from.. promiscuous thoughts of the Inquisitor; he did not need them to be conjured up again by the likes of Sera, and in front of others no less. _I’m going to kill that elf.._

The Inquisitor stopped in her tracks, tugging at Cullen’s arm.  “Cullen.. wait..”

“What is it?” he asked quietly as he turned to face her.

She cast her gaze down toward the ground as she dug the toe of her boot into the snow.   “Are you.. are you angry at me?”

Cullen blinked at her.  “Why would I be angry at you?”

“Cause.. I yelled at you..”  She sounded utterly remorseful.  “I thought.. I mean.. you haven’t talked to me in a long time so.. so I thought you were mad at me..”

A moment of silence passed before Cullen let out a laugh of disbelief.  “Inquisitor.  You said you wanted to sort out your thoughts alone, remember?”  He gently hooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face so he could look her in the eyes.  “I was never upset with you.”

“Oh.. I did say that, didn’t I?”

He chuckled, feeling another wave of relief as the air cleared between them.  Their lack of communication over the past week was all just a misunderstanding.  Cullen suddenly felt rather foolish.  “And here I thought you were avoiding me on purpose.”

Her eyes widened.  “No!  I wouldn’t.. I wasn’t..”

“It’s alright,” he assured her, giving her a warm smile as he stroked her cheek bone with the back of his fingers.  He decided to ask about her and Robert in the morning, once she was well rested.  He could only assume that they had made amends, based on her behavior toward him tonight and her elated mood.  The thought eased his mind; that was one less thing the Inquisitor needed to worry about.  He stepped to the side of her and placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.  “Come on, sweetheart.  Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmm, I like that,” she hummed as they continued their walk across the courtyard.  “No more of this ‘Inquisitor’ business, okay? Jus’.. Ailla.  Or ‘sweetheart.’  Thas’ nice too..”

Cullen couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips.  “Of course.  Ailla.”

 


End file.
